


Cracks in the Mirror

by WickedIntentions



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Asshole!Jack, Canon-Typical Violence, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Drug-Induced Seduction, Dubious Consent, F/M, Heavy Plot Dotted with Kinky Smut, Heterosexual Body Double!Rhys, M/M, Power Imbalance, Self-Loathing, Sloppy Makeouts, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-07-24 06:03:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 66,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7496706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedIntentions/pseuds/WickedIntentions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the process of receiving his cybernetic implants, Rhys awakens to find that nothing went as planned.<br/>With his existence dancing purely on Handsome Jack's whim, all he can do is try to make the best of it without letting go of his own vanishing identity in the process — or a tale about an unwilling body double just trying to make it through the day and a narcissistic megalomaniac who may or may not have bigger plans in store for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Rude Awakening ...

It was supposed to be a simple procedure, one that he would be unconscious for the entirety of; one that he would wake up feeling sore, as if he had gone through an intense workout—but the painkillers would help him get through it, and he would be on his merry way like nothing had happened. It was going to increase his productivity to inhuman levels and put him on the fast track for promotion through the ranks of Hyperion.

All he had to give up was an arm and an eye, as well as have wiring worming through his head from a port in his forehead. Truthfully, it scared him witless in the weeks leading up to the surgery, and all he could think about was how different it would feel being a cyborg. He had already signed the contract—forced himself to so he couldn’t back out of it—so it was merely the fact of accepting his fate.

 _What if the surgery failed?_ was one of his valid concerns. Hyperion surgeons were some of the best in the galaxy, but they too conformed to the rules of human error. The smallest misstep could cause major complications, and as a result, he would be utterly broke and missing a few of his important body parts. Or **dead** ; that was always a grim possibility.

Vaughn seemed skeptical at the hypothetical situation of integrating with experimental technology and had joked with him a few times in the past. But as soon as _hypothetical_ became, _“Hey, Vaughn, going into surgery in a few days—wish me luck, buddy?”_ his short friend grew hysterical and begged him to change his name and move to one of the Edens so nobody would ever find him.

Yvette also didn’t seem to agree with it, which was an understatement, despite the number of times he tried to assure her, and himself, that it was a good idea.

Maybe he should have listened to their concerns.

No, he _definitely_ should have listened.

 

* * *

 

When he awoke, everything had been fine, albeit groggy, until someone had offered him a mirror to look at his new self. Then all hell broke loose, and he had to be given a mild sedative, which wore off all too soon and left him feeling panicked once again.

“How does this feel? Any sharp pains?”

“All right, blink your left eye for me.”

“Take a few deep breaths.”

“Is your heart rate normally this _high?_ We need to draw blood for some quick tests, so you’re going to have to calm down, sir.”

_Calm down._

They wanted him to _calm down_ , which was a laughable notion. He could only stare in stupefied disbelief at his reflection at the mirror situated conveniently at the foot of his hospital bed. The doctors flitted around him, poking and prodding with endless amounts of instruments, their babbled words going in one ear and out the other without much recognition.

Rhys finally blinked, not because one of the doctors had told him to, but because he had been staring for so long that his eyes were dry and stinging. The light that had been shining through his pupil disappeared as the man holding it made a satisfied noise in the back of his throat. But as soon as he retracted, he was back with yet another tool.

What had gone wrong with the straight-forward surgery? How could he have gone in expecting one thing and coming out something entirely, grossly different?!

“I didn’t sign up for this,” he finally croaked, breaking through the bustle of the medical personnel around him. Why did his throat hurt _so much?_ He hadn’t remembered screaming that loudly—only a little bit. He reached up to touch his face, but his hand was slapped away before he could make the slightest contact.

“Ya know, I need more people like you, kiddo,” someone spoke from beyond the mirror. "People who sign contracts without readin’ the fine print. Makes for a damn good employee.”

Rhys lifted his gaze from his own reflection when the new arrival propped his arms up on top of the mirror and smiled lazily down at him. Normally, Handsome Jack would never bother to check up on his employees after they underwent major surgery, but apparently he was special.

“You assholes done yet?” Jack snapped impatiently, untangling himself from the mirror and strolling up to Rhys’s bedside. “I have things of my own to do with this one.”

No, they weren’t done, Rhys knew. He hadn’t cooperated with any of their tests thus far, but he wasn’t going to be the one to speak up and tell the Hyperion CEO that. Based on the doctors’ sudden silence, they felt similarly, and he quickly found his wrist snatched up by the impatient older man. He was dragged unceremoniously from his hospital bed and out the doors, which slid open automatically at their approach.

His surroundings passed by in a blur, his medical gown fluttering wildly around his legs at their speed, and he could hardly consult his mental map of the Helios Space Station to keep track of where they were headed. Were the hallways always this empty? There wasn’t a single person to gawk at him while he was led by the arm like a piece of luggage, and that was a small miracle.

Before long, he was taken up an elevator that zipped upwards past the Hub of Heroism and farther still, spitting Handsome Jack and him out onto a long stretch of hallway to a pair of double doors, around which were multitudes of posters and paintings of the infamous man himself. He stumbled when Jack abruptly quickened his pace and threw him into the cavernous office.

“All right, now that that’s over…” Jack again seized Rhys by the wrist and steered him past the pleasantly gurgling fountains and up the stairs just before his desk. “Let me take a moment to look at’cha.”

The younger man could only stand in place, feeling hopelessly empty, as his employer grabbed him by the chin and tilted his head at various angles, those sharp heterochromatic eyes inspecting him like he would a very interesting specimen.

Jack whistled in appreciation. “Man, they did a friggin’ fantastic job with ya. You look _amazing_.”

Rhys didn’t know what to say to that, so he shrugged his shoulders because it seemed that Handsome Jack was expecting some kind of recognition.

“How’re ya feelin’?”

“Horrible,” he replied flatly. It was an accurate word that summed up everything he was feeling. His situation hadn’t fully been processed yet, and the painkillers were beginning to wear off. The pain in his body wasn’t centered around any particular part—it moved around constantly and was everywhere at once. But it wasn’t just the pain that left him feeling so miserable; he couldn’t believe he had been deceived to this extent, that he had allowed himself to fall into this seemingly irreparable mess.

He couldn’t even fully appreciate the fact that he was meeting the CEO of Hyperion for the first time after only seeing him from afar, the man people whispered about constantly, but he supposed he would have to grow accustomed to seeing the man very, very soon. His dilemma had cheapened the whole experience, and that just made him feel even worse.

“It’ll pass,” Jack dismissed, picking at his fingernails. “Do ya know what your job in the company is?”

“I’m in sales.”

“Ha, cute. But nope, try again.”

“I…” He glanced at Jack. “What is it?”

“ _C’mon_. Lookin’ the way ya do, I can’t let'cha mingle with the peons, workin’ a lowly job like that. You’re gonna be answerin’ directly to me, doin’ crap that I tell ya to do. ‘Kay?”

Rhys nodded once and wondered idly who would get his old job. Admittedly, he wasn’t yet a manager, but he had been close. He had worked hard to get to where he had been, and it concerned him how it melted away so suddenly, as if none of what he had accomplished mattered.

“Hmm… Lemme think. Oh, got any family? Friends?”

Why was this information necessary? Rhys didn’t have a clue, but he wasn’t in a position to question Handsome Jack. “No family here on Helios. Friends, yeah.”

“All righty. Ehh… sorry to be the one to tell ya this, kiddo, but you’re gonna have to give up those friends and never speak to your family again.” Jack gave him an expectant look, hands on his hips.

Rhys stared in shock. He sputtered, “W-what? _Why?_ ”

“Hey, don’t concern yourself with the ‘why’ right now. I don’t have a lot of time, and we gotta deal with a few more things before I let'cha go for the day. It’ll all be in the contract—which ya didn’t read—and you’ll have all night to familiarize yourself with it. I’m just tellin’ ya to say good-bye to your friends and family. But not literally ‘cause you’re not allowed to contact 'em anymore.”

The emptiness within him transformed into a seed of doubt and slowly blossomed into a knot of panic in his chest. “But—”

“— _Nope!_ ” Jack interrupted, holding up an admonishing finger. “Contract later. No friends, no family. Handsome Jack is your only friend now.”

Rhys slouched slightly, furrowing his brow. Vaughn and Yvette were going to wonder what happened to him, and when he never came back from his surgery, they would think the worst. He couldn’t stand not being able to tell them that he was okay, but that wasn’t something Handsome Jack needed to know. He wisely kept it to himself, knowing he’d figure out a way to see them when he had some free time.

“You bisexual, pumpkin?”

The question was very unexpected, and Rhys, taken aback, could only utter a low, confused, “Huh?”

“Men and women,” Jack elaborated with a dramatic roll of his eyes and toss of his head. “Do ya like men and women?”

Rhys wondered if it was a trick question. He was, actually, not attracted to men, so he decided to answer truthfully and hope for the best. “No, sir. Just women.”

Jack’s lips thinned in a terse frown. “Well, that’s a problem. Ya see, _I’m_ bisexual. So ya know what that means?”

“That means…” he trailed off and hesitated, unsure how to correctly answer that. It frustrated him that Handsome Jack was continuing to think that he was mentally slow, but everything was so surreal that he couldn’t process it all. He wasn’t sure what to think anymore. “Um, what does that mean?”

“That means _you’re_ bisexual.” Jack was in danger of rolling his eyes right out of their sockets with how often he did that.

“But I’m not,” Rhys protested weakly. “I’m not attracted to men. But… but why does that even matter?”

“Princess, have ya looked in a mirror?” Jack threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Nuh-uh, better idea. Just look at me, and that’ll be the same thing. What I’m tryin’ to get through your thick skull right now is that _you’re_ now _me_. You’re my newest body double, so you’re gonna have to start doin’ things that'cha normally wouldn’t.”

“I’m not!” Rhys repeated with more conviction, taking a step back. “I’m Rhys—”

“—In here, sure, whatever. When we’re alone, you can keep your weird-ass name,” Jack interrupted, “but everywhere else, you’re Handsome-goddamn-Jack. That’s all in the contract. Got it? That go in anywhere?”

Unable to fully comprehend the bizarre situation, Rhys shook his head in disbelief, not meaning it necessarily that he didn’t understand what the other man was saying, but Jack took it as such anyway.

“Ugh, god _damn_. I didn’t realize you were such an idiot, but as long as you can follow simple orders, I don’t even care,” he muttered, mostly to himself. To Rhys, he continued louder, “So you’re bisexual, all right, dumbass?”

“No,” he said slowly. “I’m not.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jack insisted with a warning quirk of his brow, “you are.”

“No.” Rhys took a few more steps backwards, forgetting about the stairs—because who the hell sits on a podium like they own the universe? He stepped on air, expecting firm ground, and he lost his footing, letting out a low cry of alarm.

But before he could tumble down the staircase and land in an undignified heap, his bruised, flailing wrist was once again grabbed in a vice grip.

Jack pulled him forward into his arms, snaking them securely around him and bringing their bodies intimately flush together so quickly that Rhys went cross-eyed. “ _Yes,_ ” he hissed, sounding absolutely fed up with the continued denial, “you are. You are **now**.”

Then the older man leaned in extremely close until their breath mingled, tilted his face partly to the side, his eyes fluttering closed. He pressed their lips together, the hinge on his chin digging into his jaw.

Rhys’s heart jolted with more shock than when he almost fell down the stairs, and he forced his arms up between their bodies to push at his unpredictable boss and gain some much-needed distance, to no avail.

“I don’t normally, uh, do this kind of thing,” Jack told him suddenly—for whatever reason—breaking the brief kiss. He slid one of his hands, which rested on one of Rhys’s shoulder blades, up the back of his neck and into his unstyled hair. “But you’re _ridiculously_ handsome, and I’m gonna **make you** attracted to men. I don’t do things half-assed, so none of my body doubles are gonna do things half-assed.”

Before Rhys could muster a reply, somewhere along the lines of how he never willingly consented to becoming a body double, the hand in his hair shoved at his head and forced him back into being lip-locked with his employer, who pressed insistent kisses against his unresponsive mouth.

He could feel Jack’s rapid pulse—betraying his excitement—from where the man’s wrist was digging into the back of his neck and keeping him firmly in place while he kept things relatively chaste and closed-mouth. His own hands had never left Jack’s broad chest, but every attempt to put distance between them was like pushing against a brick wall.

“Why’re ya fightin’ me, cupcake?” Jack whispered against his lips. The soft flesh brushed his, his breath tickling, with every word. “Everyone wants to be where you are. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“I don’t want it,” Rhys mumbled back, keeping his eyes shut so he didn’t have to see what was happening, a lump in his throat and voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t want any of this…”

“Welp, look at the bright side. From now on, you’ll probably actually learn how to read so this never happens again. I did you a favor.” Jack took Rhys’s lower lip between his teeth and tugged at it gently. He sucked it into his mouth and ran his tongue over it until it was coated with a thin layer of his saliva. Releasing the captured flesh with a wet pop, he grinned. “Heh, probably not gonna be much help ‘til thirty or so years from now, but ya know. Food for thought.”

Rhys tried to lean back when Jack approached him again, but the hand at the back of his head was unyielding. He felt the other man’s tongue dart out to trace his lips, but it didn’t last long—a few long, languid licks that felt possessive, as if he were being marked—before Jack felt the need to fill the silence once again with his voice.

“You have the sweetest lips,” he husked. “You  _better_ tell me you’re a screamer.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Rhys hissed against better judgment, which turned into a sharp exhalation when Jack grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked it back harshly, exposing his throat.

“S’cuse me, kitten?” Jack stooped and skimmed his nose along the curve of his neck. “Dunno what filthy, incestuous bandit hole you crawled out of, but nobody talks to Handsome Jack like that.”

“Not even yourself?” His eyes cracked open, narrowed. He couldn’t stop himself.

He pulled back and smiled dangerously. “That’s, uh, that’s real good. You’re cute. But I got a little secret for you, whatever-your-name-was. Ready? Here it is: You’re just a copy, one of my little tools. Better get used to bein’ second-best. Or maybe third-best. I’ve got other body doubles who actually know what they’re doing. Take a moment to absorb that, why don’t'cha?”

Rhys averted his eyes. He swallowed what he was going to say _—“Why’d you need me, then?”_ —because verbally sparring with Handsome Jack was a tedious chore and a losing battle. The man simply never gave up.

“Aw, you look _so_ miserable. I’ve gotta say, seein’ myself so vulnerable is really, heh, _turnin’ me on_ , but if I ever see that look on your face around other people, I’ll make sure ya regret it, maybe with my hands around your throat. We’ll have to work on that, I guess, among many, many other things.”

The younger man gave a sharp nod, feeling slightly sick.

“So let’s try it again. Are ya bisexual?” The hand that wasn’t at his neck was at his hip, pushing against it and encouraging him to step back against the desk until it dug into his backside.

“…Yes,” he lied, teeth gritted. His hands fell away from Jack’s chest and landed at his sides uselessly.

“What a coincidence! So am I,” Jack responded, overly gleeful. He then leaned in and pressed another kiss to Rhys’s slick lips, sliding over them with a deliberate slowness. “Kiss me, handsome,” he ordered when it didn’t progress any further than that.

Rhys reluctantly complied, seeing no other way out of it. He moved his own since-motionless lips against the eager pair of his employer, following his lead and mimicking the motions as if he were on autopilot.

Before long, Jack’s lips were parting, as were Rhys’s moments later. A hand pushed at his thigh until he spread his legs, and the older man settled between them, leaning against him fully. A tongue teased along his lips before slipping inside and sliding against his in a long, lingering motion that was far too sensual and made Rhys feel uncomfortable.

He trailed a hand up and down Rhys’s hip suggestively, pressing against the jutting bone there, his touch hot against his skin through the thin gown. He took a moment to gulp in a quick breath of air—Rhys doing the same because he wasn’t sure when he would be able to breathe again—and returned, twice as eager and teasing Rhys’s tongue into his own mouth. Jack wrapped his lips around the appendage and sucked on it with a muffled, low groan in his throat.

Rhys grabbed at the edge of the desk, squeezing it with both hands. He wasn’t sure just how long he rested his weight on the piece of furniture with his boss pressed against him like a second skin, desperate lips suckling on his as if they were meant to be there. The noises their mouths made while they kissed were uncomfortably and embarrassingly loud in the giant room, and they were all he could focus on, aside from how thoroughly his lips were devoured.

Jack released his abused mouth, a string of saliva connecting the two of them briefly before it broke apart. He took in a shuddering breath and dragged his tongue down his chin to the hinge attached to his jaw. He sucked at it gently, laving it, and Rhys jolted in discomfort, just realizing how incredibly tender the skin around it was. The older man panted hotly against his jawline for a few long moments, his breathing rapid, and Rhys shivered beneath him.

That was when the body double became aware of a firm bulge pressing into his groin and was hit with a wave of uneasiness.

Jack finally pulled back, a breathless laugh escaping him. Not a single hair was out of place despite the intensity of their kissing because Rhys hadn’t dared to touch him if he could help it, and not a hint of color betrayed his interest through the flawless mask. However, his eyes were half-lidded, and his voice was deeper, husky. “Man, that was _somethin’_. Do you have **any friggin’ idea** how much I wanna fuck you right now?”

“Um, yeah…” He panted softly, equally breathless from the length of their makeout session. Denying it would just be a waste of time because there was literally no space between their lower bodies. Besides, acknowledging it and accepting it were two very different things, and he had no intention of sleeping with a man. As to what he would do if it came to that, he was still stuck on the fact that Handsome Jack had just thoroughly made out with him, and his mind was having trouble catching up to the present.

Jack swiped his thumb across Rhys’s lips, smearing the wetness there. He licked the residue off his finger and wiped it nonchalantly on his jeans. Then, as if they hadn’t just finished making out and as if he didn’t have an impressive erection tenting the front of his pants, he commented, tugging at the medical gown on his body double as he did, “We need to get’cha somethin’ decent to wear ‘cause this dress ain’t doin’ it for ya. I’ve got your new place stocked with everything ya need.”

“My new place?” Rhys echoed when the other man took a few steps back from him. “I have an apartment.”

A sigh was his response, long and suffering. Jack rubbed a hand tiredly over his brow. “Someday, _someday_ , I’ve gotta fuck the stupid out of ya, but I just don’t have the goddamn time right now. So let’s get goin'.”

Rhys pushed off from the desk and followed his boss out of the office, feeling extremely awkward as he did. How could Jack throw words like that around so casually? He just wanted to get far away from him so he could somehow forget his unconventional introduction to the man, but something like that would be difficult to pretend it didn’t happen. He also believed that Jack wouldn’t let him forget it and grew anxious of the future looming before him. Was he just supposed to be an unwilling sex toy to satiate his incredibly freaky fantasy of having sex with himself, or was there more purpose to his altered appearance? He could only hope for the latter.

The elevator permitted them entry, and Jack swiped an ID card and pressed a few numbers into the keypad. With that, they were off, but the journey took only a few seconds before they were once again stepping off, this time into a very expansive, modern living space with several hallways branching off and disappearing around corners. There was a plethora of expensive and stylish furniture sprinkled about the space, from couches and glass tables, to sleek wooden entertainment systems holding screens that were bigger than Rhys was.

“Welcome to paradise, kiddo. This floor is highly restricted, so only body doubles can come and go from here—and, well, _me_ , but that’s understood.”

An ID card was shoved into his hand, one that identified him as Handsome Jack and displayed a photograph of the man posing very charismatically with a pair of finger-guns.

“Don’t friggin’ lose that. It’s your only way here—but lemme tell ya _right now_ that you’re not allowed to leave ‘til I give ya permission. This is my station, and nothin’ escapes my notice.” Jack shot him a stern stare. He then waved his hand toward the interior, directing Rhys’s attention. “You’ve got a room down the right hallway, first door. It’s got a bathroom and crap that you’ll need. Clothes in the wardrobe. You’ll wear _only_ those. Kitchen is down the middle hallway. Left goes to more rooms. Simple enough for a dumb-dumb like yourself, right?”

“I’m not an idiot,” Rhys retorted firmly, locking eyes with the infuriating man’s. “So I would appreciate—”

“— _Such_ a big word,” he cooed. He slapped Rhys lightly on the cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ve got work even for your mental capacity.”

The body double growled quietly but said nothing more. He just nodded, feeling as if he’d be doing that a lot in the coming days, and he **hated** it. He hated being looked down upon and not taken seriously. But most of all, he hated that as long as he looked the way he did, whenever he looked into a mirror, Handsome Jack would never truly be gone from his life.

He had admired the man from afar, sure. Who didn’t? He was attractive, successful, fiendishly wealthy, and an inspiration. He ran Hyperion well, and as a result, all tied to its name were regarded with respect—or disdain—or envy. Whichever, it was something fierce that wasn’t given freely to people who didn’t do something significant to earn it.

He would have loved to meet Handsome Jack in a completely different setting, mostly being congratulated on his contributions to the company after given a generous pay raise and a promotion. He had taken on a few of the man’s attributes when dealing with his coworkers and sometimes came off douchey, but it had worked out well. But never, _ever_ in his life did he want to _be_ him. He had been happy with his own body—comfortable, even. But the skin that surrounded him now only crawled restlessly over his senses like a mass of skittering insects, taking away his peace of mind.

“Chin up, princess. It’ll get better. You have my promise.” Jack winked before turning on his heel and returning to the elevator.

“My name is Rhys,” he muttered, not really expecting to be heard. He wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to bring comfort, but it didn’t help much. When he looked down, the tattoo encircling his right wrist, the muscle definition, even the _arm hair_ —none of it was his. It was more than a little disconcerting.

“Well… _Rhys_ ,” Jack drawled without turning around, “ya might wanna consider takin’ a lesson in gratitude ‘cause whoever ya were before, it’s nothin’ compared to what you’re gonna be now. Nobody is gonna remember Rhys, but— _Handsome Jack?_ You’re a friggin’ living legend now, and that’s gonna follow ya way past your death.”

How could he argue with that? As cruel and flippant as the words were, they were true. Nothing he had done could amount to a mere fraction of what Handsome Jack continued to do on a daily basis. But if the older man intended to lift his mood with the sentiment, it didn’t work and only served to plummet his dark mood even further. He mumbled submissively, “Yes, sir.”

Jack fiddled with the keypad and glanced at the dejected form of Rhys. He licked his frowning lips before the doors shut and zipped him away.


	2. ... With a Dash of Deception

The contract was waiting for him when he ventured into the room that Jack gave to him. It was sitting primly on top of his bed as if to say he wasn’t allowed to sleep until he had read it. The first page was something he recognized right away because it had his signature on it, and there were pages upon pages beneath it that, from first glance, he had never seen before because they hadn’t been supplied for his review.

He narrowed his eyes, sitting on the edge of his new bed and looking over the contract he had signed, re-reading the words carefully.

“‘Experimental technology… costs repaid if successful… medication supplied free of cost until pain is manageable’…” he spoke aloud idly. None of it was news to him; he had read everything before the surgery. What part of it gave Hyperion the right to make him into a body double without his explicit consent? Admittedly, Handsome Jack never needed a rational reason for some of the things he did, but what could have made him target Rhys specifically? Surely the ECHO-eye and cybernetic arm weren’t too uncommonly sought—though he hadn’t seen them around before…

He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that he had just been randomly selected to become a body double and wasn’t informed about it beforehand. He desperately needed to ask Jack about it the next time he saw him, to piece together some clarity about his situation.

Just about to toss the papers aside in his frustration, he suddenly spotted something at the bottom of the top page, something that he had mistaken for part of the border that encircled the text stylishly. He brought the contract closer, squinting at the tiny black text. When he finally deciphered what it said, his jaw dropped.

 _‘I hereby consent to the Doppelgänger Reconstruction Procedure if deemed acceptable per physical standards set by Hyperion medical personnel and Handsome Jack, Hyperion CEO, in place of ECHO Cybernetics,’_  it innocently read.

He stared in growing disbelief at the deceptive paper for a few long, silent moments before a sudden, red-hot anger gripped him like the claws of a beast. “ _Sonuvabitch!_ ” Rhys snarled. He grabbed it at opposite sides, his tight grip crinkling it into a mess, and he tore it in half with bared teeth. Then he took the pages of the contract he was expected to read and tore each one into pieces until the bed and floor were covered with the debris.

The flimsy pieces did little to satiate his anger, and he directed his attention toward the rest of his comfortable, tasteful room.

There were various fragrances for his sheets, lotions, and hair gels—all ornate glass bottles imported from Eden-6—sitting arranged artfully on the sleek vanity set next to his king-sized bed. He swiped out an arm and knocked them all to the ground. They crashed to the hardwood floor and broke apart in pieces, spilling the sweetly-scented liquids at his bare feet.

He stomped through the glass shards, not even feeling them slice into his flesh as he did, and ripped the pieces of clothing from the wardrobe, flinging them on the ground. He punched a hole through a ceramic vase filled with fragrant flowers, spilling soil, and shoved a computer monitor off its desk. The bathroom was not spared; he tore the shower screen down, yanked the towels from their racks, and chucked hygienic products from the cabinet surface.

Passing the medicine cabinet, he froze, staring at the mirror on its surface. A wild-eyed, crazed-looking Handsome Jack stared unblinkingly back at him, hair in complete disarray, and the sight sickened him. He clenched his right hand into a tight fist, watching the imposter’s features contort with animalistic rage, and sent it flying toward the reflection. Upon its impact, the glass gave under the pressure, cracks spidering out from under it and shards breaking free and shattering in the sink. His knuckles also gave, splitting and spilling bright red blood, which smeared grotesquely across the ruined glass as he pulled it away.

Disgusted at the gore, he stalked back into his bedroom and panted harshly, his chest heaving hard, as he surveyed the destruction he caused with a sick sort of pleasure. But it faded away all too soon, and with a stinging twinge under his feet, which brought him back to reality, the realization of what he had done flooded him. He deflated, and the rage flickered and slowly fizzled out of existence, leaving his chest feeling cold and empty.

No matter how much he took out his anger on the things around him, it wouldn’t change anything. He was doomed to lose himself in the skin of Handsome Jack until the man allowed him freedom from it—if he ever did—and there was nothing he could do about it. He was probably going to die a mere copy of another human being, and the man known as Rhys was scattering to the wind the longer he remained trapped within his bindings.

What he had done to the room had been a cheap coping method and nothing more, and it only left him with a pang of regret and a renewed sense of poisonous depression clouding his mind. He had injured himself in the process, and he had no idea how Jack would react to the mess. With hot agony gnawing at his right hand, his feet stinging and leaving bloody footprints behind him, he pattered across the hardwood to the door, cradling his hand to his chest. He glanced farther up the hallway and saw several other closed doors. Picking the closest one, he entered it.

It was identical to the one he had abandoned, but it was mirrored. The wardrobe was empty of any suitable clothing, but there were hygienic products, sealed and ready for his use.

Rhys spent some time in the bathroom, taking a moment to relieve himself at the toilet—even his _dick_ was no longer his own, and that shoved him further still into his depression. To provide comfort, he sunk down in the porcelain bathtub once he had filled it with steamy hot water. He hissed between his clenched teeth, recoiling violently, when his injured feet came into contact with the water, but he forced himself to relax within its depths.

Time flew by as he soaked, and his eyes drooped with exhaustion. The water around him grew tinted pink with his blood, droplets having trekked sinister paths down the side of the tub from where his hand rested.

When his skin puckered like a prune, he finally heaved himself out of the tub and dried himself off, leaving the pristine white towel he had chosen stained with faint traces of blood. Did they somehow alter his blood type, too? He wondered that with a hysterical giggle bubbling at the back of his throat.

He hadn’t eaten for nearly a day, but the thought of food just served to make his stomach churn painfully with nausea. Instead, he re-dressed and retrieved supplies from the medicine cabinet, bandaging his feet and hand, before he returned to the bedroom and knocked the ridiculous amount of pillows—all except one—decorating the bed to the ground carelessly. When he slipped beneath the cool blankets wearily, he was asleep in moments.

 

* * *

 

Rhys slept for a few hours before the sound of his rumbling stomach woke him up, and he reluctantly dragged himself out of bed, wincing with every step, heading for the kitchen. There, he found a fully stocked refrigerator and fresh bread, so he made a small sandwich with random meat and cheese selections and forced it down without tasting it.

Retreating to the living space, he picked one of the couches, and it was exquisitely comfortable beneath him. He sagged backwards on the couch and fell asleep once again, his hunger sufficiently subsided.

Hours later, the arrival of the elevator jolted him awake. He had drooled on himself slightly, so he wiped it away with the back of his forearm and directed his attention toward the Hyperion CEO. He frowned tersely, eyes blurry from his restlessness.

“Hey there, kitten. You’re lookin’ peppy today,” Jack chirped at him sarcastically, stepping into the room. He faltered when his eyes dropped down Rhys’s body. “…Ya know, if you’re so eager to wear a dress, I’ve got more than a few I could give to ya instead of that disgrace. Who knows? Could be fun for both of us.”

“ _Okay_ , not weird at all,” Rhys muttered disdainfully under his breath. The inappropriate comments that Jack fired off still rubbed him the wrong way, but he knew that he’d be able to shrug them off with time. For now, the man’s presence had him bristling with remnants of the anger from last night.

“Your hair looks like shit. Slept with it wet or somethin’? I can see the curls at the ends.” Jack had moved forward, bending down over him and grabbing him by the jaw so he could inspect him at his leisure. “Jeezus, those are some gross bloodshot eyes. I’ve gotta say, your neglect is pissin’ me off a little bit.”

“Speaking of being pissed off…” Rhys began with an undertone of venom. But he wasn’t able to complete his sentence because Jack turned away and stepped around the couch, heading toward the depths of the apartment.

“Lemme go see what we’ve got to work with,” he called from somewhere behind Rhys. “I’m gonna teach ya how to—”

The body double knew what had managed to silence Handsome Jack in mid-sentence, and his innards crawled with anxiety. It was now or never. He was going to speak up for himself, the consequences be damned.

“What the _shit?_ ” Jack exclaimed. “What the _holy-fucking-shit_ even happened here?”

“You deceived me,” Rhys uttered lowly, continuing to stare forward at nothing in particular. “You made the text ridiculously small and **fucked** me with it. I read the contract thoroughly before signing it, but you made the Doppelgänger Procedure text look like it was part of the border. I _never_ would have agreed to it if you hadn’t, _ever_.”

“So— _what?_ You tore apart this room like a spoiled brat having a temper tantrum?” Jack snarled. “That was some expensive-ass shit, you fucker! And… is that _blood?_ What the hell!”

Rhys sank into the couch the slightest bit at the ferocity of the words, watching the other man stalk back toward him until he was looming over his seated form. “I… I was angry. You tricked me, and I couldn’t… control myself.”

The Hyperion CEO knelt atop him, steadying himself with one hand on the back of the couch. He seized him by the wrist where a myriad of yellow bruises mingled with the blue tattoo and yanked the appendage up so he could inspect the red spots bleeding through the bandages wrapped around it.

“You wanna hurt yourself, kiddo?” His voice was low, dangerous. He glared down at Rhys darkly. “If you’re that desperate for some pain, all ya have to do is ask me. I’d friggin’ _love_ to get my hands around that pretty neck ‘cause you’ve been nothin’ but an ungrateful little shit.”

“ _Fuck off!_ ” Before he could lose the ounce of courage, Rhys spat in Jack’s face, watching with sadistic pleasure as the saliva dribbled down the shocked features of Mr. Universe. “I have every right to be pissed off! I signed up for the ECHO-eye and cybernetic arm—not to be your sex slave, you twisted, egotistical fuck!”

Jack wiped his face with the back of his hand and smiled down at Rhys, his eyes promising pain. “Sex slave, huh? That’s what’cha think?”

“You're getting hung up on the wrong thing here,” Rhys growled. “Why’d you do it? Why'd you have to fuck up my life?!”

“Fuck up your life?” Jack laughed cruelly in his face. “You were a nobody, headed to Nowhere-ville! Like I said yesterday, I did you a favor. Your existence has meaning now, cupcake. You resemble a mortal god.”

The younger man gaped at him. “You’re _unbelievable_.”

“And you’re fuckin’ sexy when you’re angry,” he retorted, pinning the injured hand against the back of the couch. His unoccupied hand captured Rhys’s other and pinned it similarly. “And _goddamn it_ , I’m so hard right now. If I don’t bury my cock in that tight little ass soon, I’m gonna **kill** somebody.”

Taken aback by the abrupt shift in direction, Rhys flushed in embarrassment at the lewd words. He squirmed beneath the older man when both of his wrists were transferred to one hand above his head in a tight grip. “Ugh, lemme go!”

Jack curled a hand around Rhys’s thigh and wrenched it upwards so he could change position, kneeling between his legs instead. He slid down, pressing forward until his erection dug into the fabric of his boxer shorts and dragging downwards until it jabbed insistently at his ass. Jack suddenly shoved forward with his hips, grinding his clothed cock between his cheeks and forcing Rhys’s body to fold uncomfortably beneath him, the medical gown bunching upwards over his belly as he did. “Feel that, handsome?”

“Kinda hard not to,” Rhys snarked, shoving back against the Hyperion CEO. His body still ached from the extensive surgery, and he was in a very foul mood. He wasn’t particularly flexible, so bending his body that far was sure to cause more pain that he didn’t need.

Jack snickered, lips pulled back to expose his perfectly straight, pearly teeth. He leaned down, nearing his face, presumably for a kiss.

Rhys narrowed his eyes, a scowl twisting his lips. He surged forward to close the distance and bit down on the other man’s bottom lip, tugging at it harshly and drawing blood.

A corner of Jack’s lips twitched into a half-smile as he reeled backwards from the bite.

“Go fuck yourself,” Rhys hissed before he could filter it away as something wildly inappropriate for his exceedingly rare situation.

“Plannin’ on it, babe. Oh, _man_ , am I plannin’ on it.” He leaned forward and buried his face in his neck, smearing blood from his lip there and jerking his hips forward in a brutal pace. He dry-humped Rhys and jolted his body from the force behind it. He whispered huskily against the other man’s sensitive neck, drawing a shudder from him, “Already thinkin’— _ah_ —a-about how I’m gonna fill you up with my cum… then… then how I’m gonna pull out slowly so I can watch it drip out of your thoroughly-fucked hole.”

“ _S-shut up!_ ” Rhys gasped. “That’s—that’s disgusting!”

Too distracted by the feeling of his body double spread apart beneath him to react to the words, Jack rocked forward, huffing against his neck as he exerted himself, and his free hand snaked down to where Rhys’s cock lay flaccid against his belly under his boxers. He began tugging the offending underwear down to expose the tip and shaft. “God, it would be _so_ easy to make you hard for me, _Rhys_. I know every intimate inch of your body. I know exactly what’ll make you feel so friggin’ good that you’ll _cry out my name_.”

Rhys let out a strangled sound when Jack trailed a teasing finger over his abdomen, ignoring his length and tracing the crease between pelvis and hip up and down leisurely. He squirmed with fervor at the unexpected jolt of pleasure, his chin tilting upwards so he could stare at the ceiling with wide eyes.

Jack wrapped his lips around his exposed Adam’s apple, swirling circles around it and drawing more strained gasps from the younger man’s throat.

Rhys felt his cock stirring with interest at the forced pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut with dread. He would never be able to forgive himself if he gave in. He had held out well against Jack thus far and knew he could keep it up for so much longer. _He wasn’t attracted to men_. He knew what he liked, and the feeling of another man’s dick rubbing against his ass through tight jeans was not part of it. He didn't enjoy the weight atop him or the feeling of being so pinned and vulnerable to an unpredictable and highly dangerous psychopath.

But when Jack’s hand dipped lower and cupped his balls, massaging them, the smallest of moans finally escaped him against his will. He swallowed thickly against a lump in his throat, eyes snapping open when Jack’s face loomed over him, adorned with a very smug grin that infuriated him.

Suddenly, Jack’s ECHO device went off with a little jingle, interrupting them, and a cool female voice came through without prompt.

_“Jack, you told me to inform you when the vault hunters were on the move.”_

The older man cursed profusely and withdrew completely from Rhys’s body, leaving him to unfurl himself on the couch. He raked his fingers through his disheveled hair and tugged his ECHO-comm from his jacket. “Yeah, one second,” he muttered into it. To Rhys, he quipped, utterly frustrated, “Welp, that’s just goddamn inconvenient, huh? But what can ya do? _Some_ of us got work to do.”

Rhys said nothing, instead glaring daggers at him.

“Listen up, dickhead. If you wanna be a good boy for me, I have an assignment for ya tomorrow morning,” Jack declared. “You won’t have to say much, but I’m gonna need ya to stop lookin’ so damn depressing all the time. Master a neutral look ‘cause it’s gonna be boring. I’m gonna send ya down in my place to R&D to stand through some presentations of our latest projects. You stay awake durin’ it, show the lab coats a little appreciation to boost morale, then come _straight back here_. Think you can handle that?”

Being allowed to leave his new apartment did sound attractive, and it didn’t appear to be a difficult assignment. Human interaction other than with Handsome Jack sounded beyond wonderful. He sucked in a long, calming breath and gave a single nod. “Yeah. I can handle it.”

“Fantastic. And if ya manage to do this without screwin’ up, I’ll forgive ya for—for _that_.” He waved his hand toward Rhys’s destruction site. “As a bonus, maybe I’ll think about introducin’ ya to someone.”

That certainly piqued Rhys’s interest. “Who?”

“You’ll just have to see, won’t’cha?” Jack smirked at him, blood shining wetly on his lips as a lingering testament to what happened between them. He wiggled his fingers in farewell and disappeared up the elevator, leaving Rhys to collapse against the couch and close his eyes, his heart and mind racing.


	3. Learning to Cope ...

“Lemme get’cha ready for the day,” was what Jack told him early that morning, bursting in on him while he was still asleep and throwing down a set of clothing at the foot of his bed.

Rhys was simply too tired to protest, not being a morning person. His mind was still fuzzy with sleep, and he had to be roughly prodded more than once when he attempted to drift off again.

“Showered yet?”

“Yeah, last night.” He yawned hugely into his fist and climbed out of bed, wearing nothing but his boxers. The cuts on his feet weren’t yet healed and drew a hiss of pain from his lips when they stung at the pressure.

Jack scoffed and pointed at the clothing he had provided. “Get dressed. All of it. Use me for reference. And try not to throw it on the ground this time, asshole.”

When the man made no move to give him privacy, shooting him an unimpressed stare that wordlessly reminded Rhys that he had seen all of it already—since it was Jack’s body—he was forced to turn his back on him and shed his boxers, tugging new ones from the pile on quickly to protect his modesty. Even if Jack had seen it all, that didn’t mean he was comfortable undressing in front of a man that regularly fucked him with his eyes. It was a small mercy that Jack made no moves toward him while he dressed.

Jack appeared fairly impatient, which was understandable. As the CEO, he probably had a lot of things to tend to, and having to supervise a grown man while he readied himself for the day wasn’t generally in the plan. Hopefully it wouldn’t have to be an issue any longer after that morning, and Rhys could prepare at his own pace.

Jack leaned into his space and smoothed down creases here and there. After straightening his collar and checking all of his buttons and clasps, his fingers brushed across his belt all the way around his waist and to his back, making sure he didn’t miss any of the loops, which he didn’t. Then a hand groped his ass, accompanied with a little smirk.

He tried to ignore it, completely unamused.

The older man ushered him into the bathroom and positioned him in front of the medicine cabinet mirror so he could watch as his hair was styled. The comb he had already taken out of its packaging was snatched up.

Every time Jack combed his hair back, it would disobey and fall back into his face, and Jack made a frustrated noise. “Hey, shower in the morning from now on. Trust me, makes it easier to work with.”

“All right.”

He retrieved a jar of something that smelled pleasant when he popped the lid off, and he coated his hands with it and worked the substance evenly through his hair, massaging his scalp as he did. It was more relaxing that Rhys cared to admit and enjoyed it silently.

“When you’re leaving to go to R&D, or when you come back, if someone stops you and tries to make it sound like there’s somethin’ important goin’ on, just gather some details and get me names and departments. I’ll leave it to your discretion. If it can’t wait, then ya come back and contact me through the ECHO-net. I’ll handle it from there.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack ran the comb through his chestnut locks again, brushing them back, and they complied. He then parted the hair, easing half of it over in his usual style, smoothing down any unruly pieces that remained once he had finished. “See that? Simple, quick. Think you can do it by yourself?”

Rhys nodded sleepily, taking a quick moment to brush his teeth.

“Welp, I guess that’s it.” Jack left the supplies littered over the counter around the sink and led Rhys out into the bedroom with a hand on his lower back. “Don’t really have a time that you’re supposed to be there—they could wait all damn day if I needed 'em to. But they’re probably already waitin’ on ya now. Let’s go.”

They crossed the living space and stepped into the elevator together, and without warning, Rhys found himself pressed flush against the side, Jack pinning him securely in place with his hips. Now wide awake, he opened his mouth to protest, but the very serious look he was given had him snapping it shut.

“Don’t disappoint me, Rhys,” Jack whispered menacingly into his chin before dragging his lips softly along his jawline. When he reached his ear, he continued in the same warning tone, “You fuck up this simple task, and I’m gonna make sure ya _really_ feel it. Got it?”

“Got it,” Rhys breathed, alarmed by the abrupt change in tone between them. “I won’t fuck up.”

Jack kissed him on the lips before pulling away completely. He punched in a code on the keypad and swiped his ID card. As the elevator moved, he adjusted his clothing as if nothing had happened, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “I know ya won’t.”

The elevator took them up to Jack’s office first, as expected, and the older man stepped out without a backwards glance, leaving him to swipe his own card so the elevator would take him down to the Hub of Heroism. Between the unexpected threat and the anxiety of coming face-to-face with the inhabitants of Helios for the first time since his surgery, he was fidgeting in place, playing with one of the clasps on his beige vest.

His ride slowed to a stop, and he took a deep, shuddering breath just before the doors slid open to admit him into the bustle of the crowds. He schooled his features into something dispassionate, which was the complete opposite of how he felt inside where he was squirming restlessly.

The first steps were difficult, and his feet felt heavier than they actually were. Light fell across him, and his eyes darted across his surroundings, watching the people who wandered about slowly acknowledge his presence among them and come to a halt to stare. The din of chatter that flooded the enormous hub slowly dissipated into a quietness that better suited a church.

Was _this_ the reception Handsome Jack got every time he left his office, this silent, worshiping reverence?

There were hundreds upon hundreds of pairs of eyes on him, _all of him_ , and he resisted the urge to sink downwards and hide in his jacket. Oh, this was beyond unnerving. He had never had so much attention in his life, and he found himself stressing over every agonizing step he took in the direction of Research and Development.

 _Don’t trip. Don’t stumble,_ he told himself in a mantra, keeping his head held high and eyes forward, not making eye contact with anyone. _Don’t do anything embarrassing. Just get to R &D and complete the mission._

The journey felt like it took hours, but in reality, only minutes had passed before he found himself in front of the enormous steel doors that heralded the R&D department. He swiped his card and was granted access into its depths, and he finally breathed a sigh of relief when the doors snapped shut behind him, locking him away from the prying eyes.

An L-shaped hallway was passed through, the Hyperion guards bowing their heads respectfully as he passed, and another pair of sliding doors granted him entrance into the vast domain of all things scientific. His feet led him onwards, and his eyes drank it all in, the consoles, monitors, blood-soaked creature corpses draining blood into collecting trays, towering machines adorned with flicking lights with unknown purposes—it was all fascinating to him.

Clustered together in the center of the Indigenous Species Research Division, a sea of lab coats greeted him as employees tinkered with their projects that were arranged neatly on a series of long tables.

He let out a quiet exhale. This was going to take a while.

After being greeted by dozens and dozens of doctors, professors, researchers, and analysts that he would never be able to remember the names of, he found a place quietly among the group just as the first person introduced a new type of tubing that would allow for less creature casualties while in transport, which sounded promising to him. He found himself relaxing.

Tubing moved to new machine add-ons, which transitioned into a new type of chromosome discovered within the creature known as the stalker, which could give them more insight into its mysterious cloaking abilities. This was apparently the topic of much controversy due to inconclusive evidence.

“They’re just putting on a show, you know,” someone murmured behind him, too low to be heard by anyone but Rhys over the eager speech of the head scientist, who bent over the chart in his hands briefly for consultation. “Nobody in here knows what they’re doing—nobody but _me_.”

Rhys glanced at his side when the speaker moved into place next to him.

A skinny older man, swathed in a lab coat, steepled his fingers together in front of his mouth, and he peered at the proceedings before him with haughty superiority written all over his slightly aged features.

“...S’cuse me?” Rhys inquired slowly, confused by the newcomer.

“Oh, I was just… talking to myself,” the man assured him, turning his attention entirely to him. He pushed his drooping glasses back up his nose and folded his hands behind his back bashfully, revealing that he had impressive, dark facial hair. “Handsome Jack, sir, it’s _such_ a pleasure to have you here. With me— _us_. You look… amazing, as usual.”

Rhys almost thanked him without thinking about it because that’s what _he_ would do if someone complimented him, but Jack’s words branded themselves red-hot in his mind, and he couldn’t ignore them. He swallowed his gratitude and lifted his chin arrogantly. “I know.”

“O-of course you do!” The balding man ducked his head and tittered quietly.

Their conversation wasn’t the most discreet, but if anyone minded, they didn’t dare to voice their complaints to the Hyperion CEO. If Rhys had been himself, he would have been shushed ten times by now. It was a perk, he supposed, but it also reminded him that he was being exceedingly rude toward the hardworking scientists by completely ignoring what they had put together. He faced forward and allowed some genuine interest to filter through—he wasn’t particularly apt at science, himself, but he enjoyed hearing about it. Hell, just being around _people_ —people who wouldn’t threaten him or degrade him or treat him like a sexual object—was putting him in a relatively good mood.

Something brushed against his injured knuckles softly, drawing his attention to the twinge of pain, but when he glanced down, nothing was amiss. The skinny scientist next to him rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, hands clasped behind his back and out of sight. He dismissed it as the man’s lab coat and decided it wasn’t worth the recognition.

The lengthy presentation drew to a close after a couple of researchers got into a heated argument, and he moved forward to shake hands mechanically as people started filtering out and returning to their respective divisions. “Keep up the great work,” he told them generically, though his attractive smile wasn’t forced. “You all make Hyperion what it is today and will lead us straight into the future!”

“A-are you leaving?” The scientist who had spoken to him earlier popped up in front of him, close enough that he could detect a faint floral scent from his proximity.

“Do I, er, know you?” Rhys inquired, taking a step back from the enthusiastic man.

He frowned and immediately took a step forward to compensate. “ _Yes_ … I’ve worked for you for years, sir. I’m Professor Nakayama.”

“Oh.” The body double took a few more casual steps back, but Nakayama cleared the distance he tried to put between them, and he soon found himself backed into a vacated observation space. His backside connected with a stainless steel countertop, and he placed his hands on it.

“If you _weren’t_ leaving, by any chance, I’ve got a project of my own to show you. I think you’ll be very impressed with what I’ve done,” the older man gushed, mere inches away. “I… I have it back in the lab. If you wanna see it. _Together._ ”

“Mm- _hmm_ ,” Rhys hummed at him, skeptical and slightly creeped out. “Sounds great, but I don’t have time today.”

“Please,” he begged, bushy eyebrows drawn upwards in concern. “I deserve a chance. I promise it’ll be a worthwhile use of your time.”

He really didn’t want to linger too long, but Jack had ordered him to boost morale. Leaving Nakayama when he clearly had something important that he was working on would be detrimental to that, so he finally nodded his consent and gestured for him to lead the way.

The other man clapped his hands together excitedly and scurried away, but Rhys had no trouble keeping up due to his much longer legs. He was led through the maze that was Research and Development, trying to remember landmarks on the way between glass cages that held fierce, monstrous creatures that snapped menacingly at them as they passed.

“Lab 19, you may recall,” Nakayama quipped with a nervous chuckle when they passed over the threshold into a clinically furnished space, sprinkled with some visually pleasing potted plants. There was a curtain stretching along the fall wall, covering it entirely, and there was an abandoned podium with silent, dusty machines set up along its curve. He settled down behind his desk and booted up the computer on its surface. “I did some remodeling, and I realized that the project wouldn’t fit in here anymore. It was moved to a more suitable location on Pandora. Oh, uh… I hope you don’t mind that I keep that information secret for now—but when it’s done, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Sure, whatever,” Rhys readily agreed, still very much confused as the man jabbered on as if he had a clue what he was talking about. He had taken the seat in front of the desk and propped up his chin on his fist, feigning interest.

“Here we are! Isn’t it beautiful?”

“What— _no!_ Gah, what the _hell_ is that?!” Rhys yelped, too startled by the grotesque image on the screen that was rotated around for his viewing pleasure to remind himself that Handsome Jack probably wouldn’t have reacted as violently as he did. He recoiled back against his seat, spine ramrod straight. Throbbing, crawling, gelatinous purple mass—pulsing, angry red pustules—slimy discharge oozing as pores gaped open rhythmically— **tentacles** — _ugh_ , _disgusting_. He didn’t even know what to focus on; all of it was equally repulsive and something he would have trouble forgetting in the weeks to come.

“Remember the Tiny Destroyer failure? Well… I was rechecking my math, and I think I finally figured out what was wrong! The proportions will be right this time. I just need a little bit more funding to pull it off.” Nakayama’s eyes were wide and shiny with his excitement. He hurried around the desk and knelt at Rhys’s side, curling his hands around the armrest. “Do you like it, sir?”

 _God, no. Kill it with **fire**_. “Uh, yeah, looks— _yeah_ , that’s great.” Truthfully, it looked absolutely horrifying and would probably result in mass panic, but he didn’t share the sentiment, not when its creator was staring up at him like he was the only person in the universe who mattered. “About the funding? I’ll have to get back to ya on that, ‘kay? I’ll have accounting work the numbers.”

“Yes, sir,” he chirped a little breathlessly. “Thank you so much! I will do my best to please you!”

Rhys took that as his opportunity to leave and did so a little briskly, but before he could make it more than a couple feet out the door—

“I… _I love you!_ ” was quietly blurted out behind him, the passionate words rushed and altogether awkwardly delivered.

Rhys froze in mid-step and turned his head, wide-eyed and mouth hanging open slightly. “Uh… what?”

Nakayama wobbled unsteadily in place like a piece of driftwood floating in the tide, wringing his hands in front of his chest. He appeared equally shocked and somewhat dazed, as if he hadn’t meant to say that. “N-nothing!” he squeaked before spinning on his heel and fleeing out of sight, his lab coat fluttering dramatically behind him.

More than a little disturbed, Rhys hurried away before anything else traumatizing could occur.

 

* * *

 

He was in the L-shaped hallway when his ECHO-comm alerted him to an incoming call. The Hyperion guards were thoroughly distracted, bent over their own devices, so he put some distance between them and himself and accepted it. The screen flooded with the image of Jack’s face.

_“Hey, cupcake. I’ve got some business down on Pandora tonight. Think you can handle things a while longer while I’m gone, or do I need to call in someone more qualified?”_

That sounded a little condescending to him, but he wouldn’t let it sour his mood. “What do you need me to do?”

_“Just hang out in my office and look busy ‘til I get back. Use your best stern voice to keep the peons out if ya need to.”_

“Yes, sir.”

Jack smiled at him. _“Ciao, pumpkin._ ” With that, the call disconnected, leaving the screen blank.

He deposited his ECHO-comm in an inner pocket of his jacket and stepped through the steel doors back into the Hub of Heroism. He watched the people mill about, the whispering already beginning at his presence. Stifling an exasperated sigh, he made his way back toward Jack’s office, noting that he was feeling significantly less self-conscious this time around. He concluded that he had just been on edge from his boss’s behavior toward him, and with a successful mission added to his repertoire, he was feeling slightly more uplifted.

And as if to add to his good fortune, the crowds parted and revealed a familiar person clutching stacks of papers and passing them out to anyone who would stop to accept one.

The sight of the short, bespectacled man had Rhys moving forward without a second thought, just wanting to be near him.

Vaughn noticed him quickly and froze at his approach, tilting his head back and staring at Rhys as if he were watching a divine being descend from the heavens, which snapped him out of his daze.

“I’m s-sorry, sir, if I’m bothering y-you,” he immediately choked out, clutching the fliers to his chest like a flimsy shield.

Wordlessly, Rhys reached down and took one of the papers from his petrified friend’s arms, looking it over. His chest clenched painfully as his eyes took in the text— _“Missing my best friend, Rhys. Have you seen him?”—_ and the photograph beneath it. It was an older one, taken during college, but it was one of his favorite moments to recall, depicting a crazy night they spent together when Vaughn had been kicked out of a douchey fraternity party.

Outwardly, his face was impassive, as Jack demanded from him. But inwardly, he wanted nothing more than to seize Vaughn into a tight hug and squeeze him until he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to tell him who he really was and be able to hang out like he once did—to just enjoy living.

But of course, all eyes in the Hub of Heroism were on him, the mighty and unapproachable Handsome Jack, and he wasn’t a masochist. The real Jack would surely hear about it, and Rhys would suffer for it. There would be a moment for it, but it wasn’t now. Instead, he folded up the flier and tucked it in his pocket. He cocked a hip and locked eyes with Vaughn, realizing just how miserable he looked. It took everything he had to keep his voice steady as he reached out and gently bumped his friend on the shoulder with his fist.

“Cheer up, shorty. People don’t just disappear into nothingness—unless I’m airlockin’ ‘em, of course,” he joked. Watching Vaughn’s eyes widen with unrestrained horror, he hastily continued, cursing himself for his poor wording, “But this guy? Nope, would’ve remembered him. He’ll turn up.”

“Um.” Vaughn adjusted his glasses and pressed a few fingers against the shoulder that had been touched by what everyone perceived as Jack. “Thanks… I think. Er, _Handsome Jack, sir_.”

He looked so painfully confused, as if he weren’t sure whether to be happy or distressed—an expression Rhys was all too familiar with—and it almost brought a sad smile to his features. He peeled his lips back in a charming grin, shot the trademark finger-guns, and strutted away toward the elevator to Jack’s office. Only once he was safely behind the double doors, greeted by the bubbling fountains, did he slide down to the floor, where he brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He felt as if every footstep of progress gained that day was wiped away, leaving him stranded once again.

He missed his friends.

 

* * *

 

“Well, don’t'cha look comfy,” Jack observed when he appeared through the office doors late that night. He strolled across the obscenely long rug to his desk, one hand in his pocket. He appeared remarkably content.

“And you look pretty happy,” Rhys replied lazily from where he lounged in Jack’s chair. He couldn’t explain it, but ever since he had dragged himself off of the ground and sat at the desk, his unhappiness and stress had just dissipated away like mist, but he couldn’t be bothered to care where it had gone. He had even gone so far as to prop his feet up on the desk like he owned it.

“What can I say? Somethin’ actually went right, and I love me some moonshots. So, yeah, I guess I am happy,” the older man informed him. He seated himself on the edge of the desk. “How'd R&D go? Did you pat their asses and coo sweet nothings at 'em?”

“Uh… not exactly. But they were pretty cool, I guess. They’ve got a lot going on down there.” At the hum of understanding he received, Rhys continued haltingly, “Oh, and some old guy told me that he, uh, _loved_ me—er, you. It was super awkward.”

Jack shot him a bewildered look before realization overcame him. “Ohhh, right. Glasses, beard? Super skinny scientist dude?”

“That’s him.”

“Goddamn Nakashima. Forgot about him.” Jack shuddered. He gestured for Rhys to stand up and dropped bonelessly into his quickly vacated chair, closing his eyes in bliss. “Ehh, yeah, that’s why I don’t go there anymore.”

“Actually, his name is Naka _yama_ , sir,” Rhys corrected. He wasn’t sure why it mattered, but he felt that the enamored man deserved appropriate recognition. Poor fool, having feelings for someone like Handsome Jack, who clearly abhorred him. He couldn’t help but feel pity for him.

“I really don’t care what his name is as long as he stays _the hell_ away from me.”

“He just really admires you,” Rhys defended. “He doesn’t seem nearly as bad as you make him sound. His ideas just, well, kinda suck, I guess.”

Jack opened his eyes and glanced at him with a strange expression. “ _Really_.”

“Yeah. Anyway, he wanted some funding for a project. I didn’t really know what to tell him, so I just said I’d have accounting run the numbers and get back to him.”

“Oh-ho-ho, _man_. Do I even wanna know what it was?”

“Uh, maybe? I can’t remember exactly… Something about proportions and a—oh, yeah, a Tiny Destroyer?”

“Oh, _god_ ,” Jack groaned loudly, dropping his head down on the desk dramatically. “Not _that_ again. Nope, no funding. Not gonna friggin’ happen.”

“Probably for the best,” Rhys agreed quietly.

Jack righted himself. “’Kay, got some shit to finish. Good job, kiddo. Glad to see you’re not a complete waste of money and space. Kisses.”

With that flippant remark, Jack waved him off. Disgruntled, Rhys returned to his apartment and busied himself with preparing a simple dinner. Then he undressed to his boxers and curled up in his bed, staring at the picture he had taken from Vaughn until he drifted off to sleep.


	4. ... From the View Between the Bars

The clasps on his face had healed to the point where he could touch them without recoiling from the tenderness, and he spent some time inspecting them in front of the mirror that morning. When he had first gotten the mask, he was consciously aware of its presence over his face all the time, like an itch he couldn’t scratch, but now that some time had passed since the surgery, it was a seamless part of him. Now that he could touch it, he couldn’t help but wonder why Handsome Jack wore it.

When he popped the clasps open and carefully eased the mask off, he felt as if he had played into some kind of practical joke. The face beneath it was exactly like the one above it, which irritated him. What was even the point, then? He had _metal_ embedded in his skin to attach some type of lightweight, flexible material to his face, and there wasn’t even anything to hide. _Unbelievable_.

Leaving the mask at the sink, Rhys brushed his teeth, then stripped nude so he could use the toilet and then step into the shower, mechanically washing the body that didn’t belong to him.

After drying off, resetting his mask, and carefully styling his damp hair the way he had been taught—with admittedly decent results, though it didn’t look like it had been done by someone who did it every single morning—he decided that he wasn’t feeling up to burying himself in the ridiculously numerous layers of clothing that constituted Handsome Jack’s unique choice in fashion. He instead found a pair of boxers in his still-destroyed room in one of the drawers of the wardrobe and slipped them on. Besides, he only had the clothes from the day before, and Rhys was a hygienic person if he could help it.

He realized he had a visitor, obviously the only person that came and went from his apartment, but it sounded as if he were talking to himself when Rhys wandered down the hallway toward the front room. He quickly found that was not the case, and he took in the unusual sight of two Handsome Jacks laughing boisterously together.

Only when two sets of amused eyes fell on him did he remember that he was vastly underdressed in comparison.

“Hey there, kiddo,” the two Jacks greeted eerily in unison, identical smiles upon their lips.

Rhys’s eye twitched, and he mumbled a half-assed, “ _Hey_ ,” under his breath. He collapsed on his usual couch and self-consciously brought a pillow to his chest to preserve some modesty.

Handsome Jack immediately cracked up over his reaction as if it were the funniest thing he’d seen all week, and the body double next to him quickly followed. They bent over and placed their hands on their knees, sharing a hearty laugh at his expense.

“Told ya it’d freak him out! Man, _classic_. Should’ve brought out the digi-Jacks, though. Would’ve been way funnier.”

Rhys wasn’t sure whether to be amazed at their apparent camaraderie or grumpy that he wasn’t in on the joke. He picked at the stitching of the pillow in his arms and glanced at the other body double, suddenly realizing that he didn’t have a mask on.

“Yeah, probably. Hey—did ya happen to see that explosion a couple days ago near the Outlands?” The other body double paused and watched as Jack’s face lit up with recognition. “Okay, me and Pickle found this old Dahl site where these workers were holed up, right? Bastards were tryin’ to build this— _I dunno_ —thing… So stupid lookin’. Whatever. Then— _ka-poof!_ ” He mimicked an explosion, spreading his hands wide in emphasis. “The debris is _still_ flyin’ ‘round and smackin’ into stuff. Nearly decapitated this one dude yesterday, sliced his Oz kit right off. I swear to shit I almost suffocated from laughter. Ahh, totally worth it, though. Good times.”

“That was you!” Jack cackled in approval, his eyes glittering with mirth. “I was wonderin’ ‘bout that! Thought for sure someone slammed a kraggon colony with a couple of pounds of nitroglycerin strapped to their ass.”

“Ha, yeah… Nah. Ya know, just when ya think you’ve gotten rid of ‘em, they come crawlin’ back like a goddamn infestation.”

“Dahl or kraggons?”

“What’s the friggin’ difference?”

They shared a high five full of Hyperion arrogance, and Rhys rubbed at his eyes, wondering if he was dreaming. Finally, when there seemed to be a lull in the enthusiastic conversation, he interjected timidly, “Um, he doesn’t need a mask?”

Jack looked at the other body double and shrugged like it was no big deal. “Meh, he didn’t want it.”

“Personal preference,” the mask-less Jack added. “I’ve just always been comfortable like this. It would be weird to get used to a mask now.”

Rhys frowned tightly at that, eyes darting between his companions with suspicion. _Personal preference?_ This phrase was extremely foreign to him now. He decided not to continue questioning it while Handsome Jack was standing there, staring at him with an eyebrow quirked.

The Hyperion CEO smoothed his hands over the collar of his jacket. “ _Weeelp_ , goin’ back to work. You two sexy men can get acquainted. Tim-Tams, great to see ya, and good luck with this one. Remember what I said; he’s friggin’ stubborn.”

“I’ve got this, Jack,” he responded jovially. “Don’t’cha worry.”

Rhys watched in growing disbelief as Handsome Jack shot his body double a pair of companionable finger-guns, which was returned with the same energy, and disappeared in the elevator, leaving them alone.

“…‘Tim-Tams’?” Rhys shifted awkwardly, breaking the silence and deciding that was a good place to start.

He snickered behind his hand. “Uh, yeah, Jack and his pet names, right? My real name is… Well, not supposed to say it—the contract and all. Rhymes with ‘Jimothy,’ though, if that helps.”

“Timothy,” he greeted immediately. “I’m Rhys.”

“No, you’re not supposed to—” Timothy broke off, furrowing his brow. “Rhys, did ya read the contract? Let’s start there.”

“I kinda… ripped it up. I forgot to ask for another one.”

“Oh. Huh. Well, I don’t have a physical copy on me ‘cause I thought you’d have one. I guess we can download it digitally, though. One sec’.”

The other man dropped down on the couch opposite him and fished his ECHO-comm from his pocket. He fiddled with it while Rhys contemplated his appearance, which was different from his and Handsome Jack’s. Timothy wasn’t decked out in endless layers, instead sporting a simple, worn Hyperion sweater and leather jacket, and he was wearing knee-high boots instead of sneakers. Most importantly, his face wasn’t covered by a mask, and he was sporting a little tuft of hair under his bottom lip.

Again, he was faced with the same burning question, and he couldn’t hold himself back. “Seriously, why don’t you have to wear a mask?”

Timothy looked up from his device. “Got a hearin’ problem, kiddo? Thought I already answered that.”

Rhys gave him an unimpressed stare.

“Heh, couldn’t resist.” He contemplated the question for a moment, tapping a finger on his jaw. “Well, I live on Elpis and manage stuff there, and it’s just a completely different world—civilized as can be expected from a rock covered in lava, I guess. Hyperion controls it, but Jack isn’t breathin' down its neck, so to speak, like he is with Pandora right now.”

That just left Rhys feeling more puzzled. “And your point is…?”

“My point is Elpis isn’t bein’ terrorized—but don’t tell Jack I said that,” he interjected hastily. “The natives don’t care to remember what Handsome Jack looks like—er, _exactly_ , is what I mean. Of course they know it’s him at first glance. So mask or not, bright pink tutu or a rockin’ speedo, it doesn’t make any difference. I look like him. I sound like him. I act like him. So, yeah, ya see my point. I’m him. Like I said, whole different world.”

“Uh-huh… But what I’m saying is… you have a choice? Why didn’t he just, you know, _force_ you to get it?”

“Oh. … **Oh**.” He pocketed his ECHO-comm at the note of bitterness in Rhys’s tone and elaborated, “Look, Rhys… I’m not tryin’ to sound like a huge douche here, which is probably pretty funny ‘cause, like, I always sound like a huge douche. But, uh, I guess I’ve got seniority. I’ve been doin’ this job for a long-ass time, and I’ve known Jack for years. I _get_ him. Know what I mean?”

“You ‘get’ him? What, you know all his secrets or something?”

“Nah, not even close. I know him… I guess, physically and mentally?” He paused and screwed his face up with confusion as he pondered it. “ _Emotionally_ —I think that’s the one. I don’t understand him emotionally. Hm… does he even have an emotional side? Dunno. If he does, I don’t really wanna see it. Heh, no, thanks.”

“When you say ‘physically,’ do you mean…?” Rhys trailed off meaningfully.

“Whoa-ho-ho, wait. Are you askin’ if he’s _fucked me?_ ” Timothy blinked rapidly, clearly bewildered. “Uh... _nooo?_ Hell no. He flirts with me ‘cause that’s just what he does, but I’m not interested. That’d be more than a little creepy. I meant I know, like, his tics and gestures. Impersonal crap like that.”

He digested that uneasily and chewed on his inner cheek for a moment before broaching, “So… you’re not bisexual?”

Timothy laughed. “I see where ya might think that, but, um, no. I prefer women. Like, sometimes I still send ECHOs to Moxxi—this extremely, _extremely_ hot ex-girlfriend of Jack’s on Pandora—to see if she wants to… well…” He cleared his throat. “But she still hates him. So, yeah. That kinda sucks.”

Rhys crossed his arms. He was annoyed, and it showed plainly on his face. “Seniority, huh?”

“Yeah… I take it you’ve had a rough time—”

“—An understatement,” he interrupted.

“—But I’m gonna help you out. That’s why Jack brought me in from Elpis for a few days. You’ll get used to it.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” Rhys told him firmly.

“Didn’t you understand what’cha signed up for? I mean…” he trailed off as Rhys’s face contorted further into anger. “ _Shit_ , that’s, ah, really unnerving. Sorry. It’s just that you look _just_ like him.”

That hit him like a slap to the face, and he watched as Timothy sank down in his seat under the intensity of his glare. “Well, guess what? I didn’t sign up for this. I was fucking tricked into it. I didn’t want to be a body double, and I had a life. It wasn’t the greatest, but I enjoyed being **me**. And now I’m— _this_.”

“I’m sorry,” Timothy offered quietly. “I didn’t know, and I probably seem like a real asshole. …Comes with the job, I guess.”

“And he treats me like _shit_ ,” he continued heatedly, as if the other body double hadn’t spoken. “Sometimes, I’m an actual person that can get things done when he needs it, and that’s not actually so bad ‘cause I can forget the total shittiness of my situation for a while. But other times… Other times, I’m a sex toy ‘cause I told him I’m not bisexual, that I don’t like men—and he didn’t like that. So he’s been… forcing me to.”

“Forcing you to…” Timothy repeated slowly, “forcing you to, uh, _like men?_ ”

“It’s not working, obviously,” Rhys retorted. “You can’t force someone to change their sexual preferences just like that. But that doesn’t stop him from kissing and touching me whenever he goddamn wants to.”

“Um. Wow, that’s… Uh, I’m not—I’m not really sure what to say.”

The remorse and discomfort in Timothy’s expression swiftly reminded him that he was venting his problems on a complete stranger, and his anger started to drain away, leaving him hollow. He still resented the man for being treated so well compared to him, but it wasn’t his fault. But having nobody to talk to about his dilemma had taken a toll on him, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself. “I thought maybe, just maybe, there were more of you going through the same thing. And then here you are, talking to him like an old friend, and you have choices and options. You’re allowed to do whatever you want without constant surveillance. Like you’re a real person.”

They sat in silence for a few long moments, and the other body double dropped his gaze to his hands. Rhys was certain he had said too much and pushed the man too far out of his comfort zone, until Timothy suddenly glanced back up at him.

“Maybe I could… hint that he should lighten up on you?” he suggested gently, as if treading on thin ice. “I’m not sure how effective it’ll be, but—”

“—It won’t help.” He added quickly, “But thanks.”

“Okay.” Timothy sighed.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to make things awkward.”

“Somehow, Rhys, I don’t think me feelin’ awkward matters after what you’ve told me,” he admitted.

Rhys only nodded. Even though Timothy wore Handsome Jack’s likeness and wore it well, he seemed like a decent person, but there was something else still bothering him. “How are you so… happy? As a copy, I mean.”

Timothy thought about it for a moment. “When I signed up to become his body double, I was an unpopular guy with a shit-ton of student loan debt and huge confidence issues, and I couldn’t find a job that paid well enough to support me. But Jack gave me a sense of self-esteem and an extremely generous paycheck. He taught me how to defend myself, added excitement to my life. I even got to be a vault hunter for a while, which was friggin’ sweet. And now— _heh_ , what can I say? Women literally throw themselves at my feet, and I command an entire moon full of people.”

But the long-winded answer didn’t satisfy him. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah, I know.” He shrugged a shoulder and responded wistfully, “Eh, I’m happy. And I’m not. Dunno. I try not to think about it. But does it even matter? Who _is_ happy?”

He didn’t need to think about it because the answer was obvious to him. “Handsome Jack. Case in point, you love being in his freaking _shadow_.”

“Sorry, but nope.” Timothy shook his head. “Jack is actually the most miserable person I know. He’s just really, _really_ good at seemin’ like the happiest man in the galaxy.”

Rhys seriously had trouble accepting that as the truth, as ‘miserable’ wasn’t a word that came to mind when he described the egoistical CEO. “I thought you didn’t understand him emotionally.”

“Meh, don’t have to. It’s pretty obvious, ‘least to me, knowin’ him for as long as I have. I mean, shit, you’d _have_ to be miserable, being betrayed so many times.”

That intrigued him. He was tempted to pry more into it, but it wasn’t his business. If he ever had the inclination again, it would be better just to ask the man in question, himself. That is, if Rhys could ever have a serious conversation with someone that admitted he wanted to fill his ass with his semen.

“’Point is, I’m thankful for what Jack gave me, and I’ve gotten used to seein’ his face in the mirror,” the other man supplied without prompt. “He’s handsome. _I’m_ handsome. Anyway, beats bein’ homeless and eatin’ dirty sneakers out of the trash in some bandit hole on Pandora while Jack ass-fucks his way through the planet, don’t’cha think?”

The man’s crude humor tugged his lips into a faint smile, but then it faded again when another question came to mind, something he _really_ needed to know the answer to. “But if you could… would you get the surgery reversed?”

After all, if being Handsome Jack’s copy was so great, what was **he** missing? He could see so painfully clear that the man in front of him had everything he could ever want—but what Timothy believed he had wasn’t _really_ his. Only by the grace of the person he was recreated from was he perceived to be an important and extremely powerful man. Was this body double so illusioned that he had forgotten who he really was?

 _And_ …

…Would he be in Timothy’s spot someday, saying the exact same bullshit to some poor bastard?

Rhys had been so sure of himself that he was speaking to a well-brainwashed puppet, but the answer he was given only stumped him further.

“Once upon a time, yeah, as fast as I friggin’ could.” He smiled lopsidedly. “But now? …Nah, I don’t think so. ’Strange as it might sound, things changed between us, and I’ve grown to really like Jack. We work well together and get stuff done. And he’ll never admit it with a straight face, but he needs me. I’m not gonna be the next—or last—person to betray him. Not after all we’ve been through.”

Before Rhys could formulate a response to that, Timothy then abruptly switched gears and quipped rather flippantly, “Can’t get it reversed, anyway. Not anymore—not without Jack’s permission. Hyperion has my genetic makeup on lockdown.”

“’Not anymore,’” he repeated, daring to grow hopeful. “You had a choice? What happened?”

Then the hope was squashed into a pitiful, dark smudge before it could blossom into anything with substance.

“Jack strangled him to death.”

_Of-fucking-course._

 

* * *

 

Having spent the last few hours going over the intrinsic details of his contract and working on his speech and mannerisms, Rhys was thoroughly sick of all things Handsome Jack. He was more than ready to wolf down lunch and lock himself away in his room, and he would have done all of that, except that Jack sent him a text message, ordering him to his office. So here Rhys was, riding the elevator up as high as it went and then reluctantly walking down the long hallway that led to Jack’s office. He stepped through the sliding doors.

“Hey, cupcake,” the older man called to him good-naturedly as he approached his desk. He was wearing a pair of thick-rimmed reading glasses with various documents strewn before him. “How’d the chat with Tim go?”

Rhys stopped a few feet away from the desk and glanced at the heavy tome perched atop it. He got a mere glimpse of some of the title, which read _Incentive Salience_ , before Jack took off his glasses and placed them on top of it, effectively blocking the rest of the words from his view. “It was…” he hesitated, fishing for a word to accurately describe everything they had talked about, “…enlightening. I learned a lot from him.”

“Very nice. I see ya picked up a new word.” Jack smiled at the sour frown on Rhys’s face. “Anyway, I’ve got more business on Pandora tomorrow, and I’m gonna need ya to hold down the fort for me again. Probably gonna be an all-day thing. So I want’cha to pretty yourself up, sit your pert little ass down in this seat, and get comfy ‘cause it’s gonna be a long day of a whole lot of nothin’.”

He stifled a sigh. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t take any visitors. I’ve got a PA comin’ in tomorrow to take messages for me. Don’t want’cha thinkin’ you’re qualified to start givin’ Helios orders yet, even if you’ve got the face for it.”

“What’s the point of me sitting in your office if I can’t do anything? I can handle it,” Rhys insisted. “I’m not stupid like you think I am, you know. I’m not gonna destroy Helios if you’re gone for _one day_.”

Jack tilted his head to the side and regarded him for a few moments. Then he shrugged his shoulders. “Mmkay… If you’re so sure of yourself, then let’s do some role-play.”

The younger man was taken aback. “Uh, what do you mean?”

“Take a seat on the throne, kiddo.” He stood from his chair and offered it to Rhys, who eyed him skeptically before dropping into it. Jack sat up on the desk in front of him, spreading his legs comfortably and leaning back on his hands. “Just tell me the first thing that pops into your mind, ‘kay? Here we go: A bandit stowaway arrives on a cargo transport ship and manages to spread a flesh-eating disease with no known cure. It sweeps through Helios like wildfire, contracted by breathin’ contaminated air.”

“Wow, uh, you’re really gonna start out with that one? ‘Cause that would never happen.”

“Tick-tock, Rhys. People are runnin’ around screamin’, and their rancid skin is fallin’ off their bones. Only a matter of time before it reaches you.”

He cringed. “ _Ugh_ , god, that’s not a nice mental image. Uhhh, I call R&D and have them find a cure ‘cause they’re good at science and stuff.”

“Nakatashi barges in and tells ya that he ‘accidentally’ deactivated the triple-reinforced biometric locks on every cage in R&D.”

“I forgive Naka _yama_ ‘cause he’s a human being who makes mistakes. Then I evacuate all the scientists and seal up R &D until all the creatures starve to death.”

“Nope, the tasty scientists are all eaten in seconds. People are still runnin’ around screamin’ and coverin’ everything with their diseased skin flakes.”

“I ECHO the scientists on Elpis and order them to find the cure.”

Jack smirked at him. “Okay, hot shot, how ‘bout this one? A team of murderous vault hunters hack into the network and fast-travel right outside your office. ECHO doesn’t work.”

 _Oh_ , he was stuck with that one. The body double shrugged helplessly. “I pull out my nonexistent gun and defend myself with the skills you never taught me. Seriously, what else? If I’m gonna die, I should at least go down fighting.”

Jack actually appeared pleased with his answer, but he could have imagined it.

“I think I’ve heard enough. See, those are perfect examples of why you’re not gonna run Helios. You just don’t think like I do.”

“So you _wouldn’t_ go down fighting?”

The older man lifted his chin. “I wouldn’t die.”


	5. The Fleeting Escape ...

It was very welcome having someone around to talk to, Rhys decided, especially someone who understood polite boundaries. His temporary house guest had taken one of the rooms in the leftmost hallway, separating their rooms with the kitchen for some courtesy space, but they still encountered each other in the shared living room the evening before when he had returned from his unconventional role-play session with the Hyperion CEO. Timothy was refreshingly funny but still had that rough Handsome Jack sense of humor that Rhys had come to dislike—but only because it was usually at his expense.

It was when he was alone that his thoughts took over, and he found his mood becoming worse the longer he went over the small things in his life that he could no longer control. In the past, if he wanted to entertain himself, he would have found Vaughn and Yvette and wandered Helios’s vast shopping district in search of new and interesting electronics or games. If he suddenly felt like catching up with his parents, he could have simply picked up his ECHO-comm and done so. If he wanted to meet a cute girl and perhaps bring her back for a fun evening, he could have wandered into a club and used his boyish charm to—maybe—snag one.

Now, he had the attractive options of flipping through Hyperion-sponsored television, staring blankly at his ECHO-comm, or dropping by Jack’s office to have his anal virginity threatened.

He knew he was depressed, and he was also painfully aware that it could eat him from the inside out if not dealt with. Depression was a patient, silent predator which stalked through the shadows of his mind and knew just where to strike to keep him limping pitifully through the darkness. The best he could do to ensure he didn’t trip and fall prey to it was by keeping himself busy. That’s why he needed steady work, for which he could leave the stifling confinement of his apartment and wander around Helios, even if he could never really connect with everyone around him like he used to. Just being able to have a reason to feel good about himself by being a productive member of the company and getting a chance to stretch his legs would be enough to keep him from going completely insane.

“Oh, yeah, ya just reminded me. Exercise— _that’s_ what I was gonna mention before we got off topic. Jack runs four or five miles a week. It’s nothin’ crazy; just enough to work off the junk food he eats to get through those late nights,” Timothy told him. “Dunno what’cha looked like before the surgery, but if you were a buff guy, I wouldn’t recommend keepin’ that up now. Not only will his clothes not fit’cha, but you’ll hurt his pride.”

“I didn’t exercise, like, at all, so I wasn’t exactly the fittest,” Rhys admitted sheepishly over a bowl of cereal. The two of them had been discussing a few finer aspects of Jack’s lifestyle over breakfast. “I was too busy with work, then my friend and I would play video games all night. I still have— _had_ a pretty good metabolism for my age, though, so that was cool.”

“Welp, that’s fine. And I’m not sayin’ ya _have_ to exercise or anything, but if he ever sends you outta Helios, you’re gonna need to have some endurance, especially on Pandora. Lotta people would love to watch him—and by extension, you—die. But you’ll get used to runnin’ for your life.”

“Wonderful…” he muttered grimly.

“He’s got his own track and stuff, but all ya have to do is ask him to use it. He might even give you points for showin’ some initiative, so you’re welcome.” There was a jingle of an incoming text message on Timothy’s ECHO-comm, and he took a moment to read it. His heterochromatic eyes darted across the words eagerly, but after a moment, the easygoing look on his face immediately dropped off. “ _Shit_.”

Timothy, having clearly adopted Jack’s penchant for dramatics, abruptly collapsed on the kitchen table, and Rhys had to steady his bowl before it could topple over. Some milk managed to slosh over the side of the bowl and across his hand and wrist despite his best effort to keep it all intact, and he stifled a sigh as he retrieved a damp cloth to wipe it up.

At least Jack wore his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, or Rhys would have had to change, knowing there’d be a snarky comment about his neglect waiting for him later if he didn’t—not that changing would have been too much of an issue. Timothy had kindly stocked his empty wardrobe with an abundance of freshly laundered clothing, including various Hyperion sweaters that the other body double swore were different shades of yellow to add some diversity to his day. Rhys didn’t see it, but he didn’t care enough to argue. It wasn’t his fashion sense, after all.

“Heart attack?” Rhys probed when the other man offered no explanation for his behavior.

“Heartache,” he corrected between his fingers, where his face was buried. He slid his hands up and through his hair before lifting himself off the table with a dejected sigh. “Moxxi rejected me again.”

“You told me she hates Jack. You look like Jack,” he deadpanned. “How are you even surprised?”

“I’m not surprised. I’m just… I guess I’m just always hopeful that she’ll change her mind, so I’m disappointed every time she doesn’t.”

Rhys chewed thoughtfully on a spoonful of sugary goodness. When he swallowed, he inquired, “How does the relationship thing work with you, anyway? He doesn’t mind if you try to date his ex-girlfriend?”

“Nah, that’s one rule even I can’t get around. I’m allowed to keep it basic and primal—ya know, just casual sex to blow off steam. Havin’ a real long-term relationship is outta the question, which kinda sucks, but I get it.” He shrugged noncommitally. “See, people spread rumors about havin’ sex with Handsome Jack all the time, so if word gets back to whoever he’s dating at the time, it doesn’t mean much. But if I were publicly seen with someone in a dating setting, that’s somethin’ very different. It might cause some problems for him.”

“I guess… But that’s really selfish of him. If he’s not dating anyone, then you should be able to.”

“But Jack _does_ have a girlfriend, ‘last I heard, and the same one for years now. He doesn’t make a habit of publicly announcin’ it, but when the same lady gets special access to Jack’s office and shows up more than once, it’s kinda obvious what’s goin’ on.”

“Wait. **Wait**.” Rhys worked his jaw for a moment, struggling to process the words. “He has a _girlfriend?_ ”

Timothy nodded. “I think so. Her name is Nisha. She’s intimidating as hell but pretty friggin’ hot at the same time. Worked with her for a while in a team of vault hunters. I could’ve seen that match comin’ from a mile away.”

“I can’t believe it. That’s horrible and—and _disgusting_ ,” Rhys sputtered. “He’s… telling me how much he wants to fuck me and touches me all the time, and he has a girlfriend already! Seriously, what the _hell_ kind of double standard is that? He obviously doesn’t care about being loyal, so why would he care if you were seen with a girlfriend?”

“Double standard for the double?” Timothy offered with a faint quirk of his lips. “I dunno. I don’t get too much into his personal life, but he’s always seemed exclusive to whoever he’s dating.”

“I don’t believe it. He’s a complete asshole, anyway, so what’s a little infidelity on top of every other horrible thing he does?”

“Jeezus. I think you’re a little harsh to judge there, cupcake. Kinda soon to start throwin’ out accusations like that. Ya just met him, right?”

“I don’t care. He hasn’t exactly given me any reason to think differently. Literally the **first** thing he said to me was a back-handed insult to my intelligence, and it’s only gotten worse from there. I didn’t do _anything_ to deserve the abuse he puts me through. At this point, I’m just defending myself.”

“Ya know, he does have his good sides. They’re rare, but trust me, I’ve seen ‘em.”

“Maybe if he would lighten up, all of Pandora wouldn’t want him dead.”

“I really don’t wanna have a huge argument about this, Rhys. All I can say is he didn’t get to where he is now by bein’ a fluffy kitten. Hyperion would be a mere fraction as efficient without Handsome Jack here to lead it. You don’t see Helios gettin’ invaded while he’s around, do ya?”

“…I guess not,” he acquiesced.

“Anyway, you should probably head up to Jack’s office if you’re done eatin’. He’s been gone for a little while now, so ya don’t even have to see him on your way.” Timothy stood from his chair. “Gonna go change my hair and head out for a while, but you’ll be able to reach me through the ECHO-net.”

“W-wait!” Rhys scrambled out of his seat and deposited his bowl in the sink before rushing after the other body double, who was making his way toward his own room. He fell into step beside him. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, I’m bored. Gonna go find somethin’ to do.” He opened his bedroom door, crossing the room to his bathroom. “Unless ya need some guidance, there’s a bar I’ve been hearin’ ‘bout since I got here.”

“Uh, I mean, I shouldn’t need you for anything. But it’s, like, nine o’clock in the morning.” He stopped outside the bathroom and watched as Timothy combed his hair out. “You’re going to a bar at nine o’clock in the morning?”

“Why not? I’m on a vacation, so I might as well enjoy it, don’t’cha think?”

“Well… can—can I come with you?”

He didn’t answer right away, putting the finishing touches on his hair, adding some pomade. Sporting a similar pompadour as Jack preferred but with a messier sweep, Timothy set down his comb and glanced at Rhys, confused. “Huh? I mean, I wouldn’t mind hangin’ out with ya and all, but’cha need to watch the office, right?”

“Like you said, Jack’s not here. How’s he gonna know if I go out for a while?”

“Trust me, Rhys. He’ll know. Are you sure ya wanna take a risk like that? You have your orders, and there isn’t much I could do if he… ya know, gets angry with ya.” Timothy shook his head and gently pushed past him. “Sorry, I don’t wanna encourage you to get yourself into trouble.”

Rhys drooped slightly. In his previous job, he had been a hard worker, diligent and organized and eager to advance, but the prospect of being locked in an office all alone had him desperate to shirk his duties, at least for a few hours, and have some much-needed fun instead.

He lifted his head and spotted a pen discarded on Timothy’s desk. He stared at it for a few seconds before inspiration struck him. He darted forward and followed on his companion’s heels. Tentatively, he inquired, “Can you at least deliver a message for me while you’re out? I’ll tell you where to go.”

“Um, that depends. Who’s the message for?”

Rhys chewed anxiously on his lip before deciding to tell the truth. “A friend.”

The other man paused and turned to give him a serious look. “Rhys…”

“C’mon, Timothy. He’s not gonna find out,” he reasoned. “He can’t watch everything _all_ the time, and he has no reason to think you’d do this. You said it yourself—he trusts you.”

“ **Exactly**. He _trusts_ me. And ya know why he trusts me? Because I don’t do shit like this to make him think I can’t be trusted,” Timothy explained, growing frustrated. “And what _exactly_ will this accomplish? I won’t be here for much longer to pass notes, and you’re never gonna be allowed to hang out with your friend, at least not as yourself. Shouldn’t you just try to, like, accept that this is how it’s gonna be and move on? Why do ya gotta torture yourself?”

“My friend probably thinks I died in surgery,” Rhys retorted firmly. “He’s out there passing out fliers, trying to find me, and he never will if I don’t do something. I can’t let him suffer without knowing what really happened to me. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a shitty friend. Even if you can’t understand why this is important to me, I’m not gonna be able to move on if I didn’t at least _try_.”

“Actually, I _can_ understand ‘cause I’m not a shitty friend, either. Jack would fuckin’ flip if he knew about this, but…” he hesitated, “…well, I am here to help ya.”

Rhys let out a quiet sigh and offered a smile. “Thanks.”

“Sure. I’ll only do this once, so make it count. And needless to say, I’m not gonna be too eager to do favors in the future if ya tell Jack about it.”

“I’d have to be completely insane to tell him about this ‘cause as much as he’d get mad at you, I guarantee I’d suffer ten times worse.”

Timothy frowned. “Probably true.”

“Got any paper in your desk?”

“Mm-hmm. Top-left drawer.”

Rhys returned to the man’s bedroom and swiped the pen from the surface. Then he rifled in the drawer he had been directed toward, pulling out a piece of stationery, which was gold-embossed with the Hyperion logo. He seated himself at the desk and bent over the paper, pen poised in his hand.

He ultimately decided to keep it short but urgent enough that Vaughn would think twice before ignoring it. If he managed to see his short friend face-to-face and not scare him off, he’d be able to thoroughly put his thoughts into words then. In a neat scrawl, he wrote, _‘Vaughn, I have important information about your friend, Rhys. Meet me in the center of the shopping district of the Hub of Heroism tomorrow around 10:00a.m. Bring Yvette if you can.’_ After a pause, he decided to add, _‘Destroy this after you memorize it.’_

Seeing as it was Saturday tomorrow, Vaughn and Yvette would have the day off and be more inclined to see what the invitation was about. He had decided on the time to give himself enough time to come up with a good enough excuse to leave the apartment without rousing Jack’s suspicion. He had no idea how it would work out, but all he could do is try and hope for the best. Admittedly, sending a message through the ECHO-net to Vaughn and Yvette would have been painless and quick, but such things were easily tracked, and he didn’t want to endanger his friends.

Timothy, who had been lounging on one of the couches and amusing himself with his ECHO-comm while waiting, glanced up when Rhys returned with his folded note in hand. After receiving an apartment number and some directions to lead him to the section where Vaughn was housed, Timothy flippantly wished him luck with his “sittin’ on ass” with a note of sarcasm and swiftly departed.

Rhys was well aware that he had annoyed the other man, and he didn’t feel great forcing him to risk his relationship with Jack for his sake. But once the message was delivered, he would be able to fully take things from there—and if Jack somehow discovered what he did, he would take complete responsibility for it.

After all, he didn’t care what Jack thought of him. He could face the wrath of the Hyperion CEO if it meant that he could see Vaughn and Yvette, even if it were the last time he would be able to. At the very least, he had to give his friends a proper good-bye.

 

* * *

 

When Rhys stepped out of the elevator, bags of snacks in his arms, he wasn’t alone.

A young woman was seated at one of the many cubicles in the space connected to the hallway leading to Jack’s office, typing away on the computer on the desk with a diligent tapping. At his arrival, she abandoned whatever she was working on and turned in her swivel chair to look at him attentively, hands folded in her lap. “Good morning, sir.”

“Hey there, dollface,” Rhys greeted. Oh, she was _cute_. He puffed out his chest and flashed her a smile. “Handsome Jack here, ready for a long day of sittin’ on ass and dealin’ out the pain to bandit scum with just the press of a button with one of my attractively manicured fingers—while I single-handedly conquer the universe with the power of my awesome haircut. And guess what? I have room for one more if ya wanna join me in my conquest.”

“Sir, I know you’re a body double,” the personal assistant told him, impressively straight-faced. “I was informed of the situation, and I already saw Handsome Jack fast-travel to Pandora. All visitors will be stopped here, and I will take any important messages. You won't be bothered.”

He deflated and laughed nervously. Had he been too over-the-top? Maybe he needed to practice with Timothy a few more times. “Oh. _Awk_ ward. Well, I’m gonna go… over there now.”

She didn’t crack a smile at his expense, clearly accustomed to keeping her judgments to herself, and he was silently thankful for that. She only offered a nod, and he took that as his cue to strut away with the remainder of his tattered dignity down the hallway, shutting himself in the office. Trying not to think about how he just embarrassed himself, he promptly planted his ‘pert little ass’ in Jack’s chair and turned his attention to his ECHO-comm.

He took some time to explore the device for any of his games, but to his misfortune, it had been modified during his surgery so that any interactive online features were locked to his use. There were some simple card games available, and he could contact anyone from a prescribed list of people, which was so short that he didn’t have to scroll to see all of them, including Handsome Jack, Timothy, and various Hyperion services and departments.

As irritating as having his private property tampered with was, there was something about sitting in Jack’s chair that made him feel so _good_. Even the grumpiness that had gripped him at the thought of being holed up in the office all day with nothing constructive to keep himself occupied—while Timothy was allowed to leave whenever he wanted to and drink himself stupid at a bar—soon melted away.

As he settled in and played a few hours’ worth of games, his muscles grew laxer and laxer until he was lounging in the chair, resembling liquid with how he draped over it. Once he had become sufficiently bored of the repetitive games, he discovered a series of buttons on the armrest of the chair and decided to press a few—what was the worst that could happen?

One of the buttons lifted a computer monitor out of the desk and provided well-worn keyboard and mouse, which popped out in front of him—but a few half-hearted attempts to guess Jack’s password resulted in zero success, so they were quickly retracted with another press of the same button. Another played music, he assumed from Jack’s personal playlist, from hidden speakers, which belted out a magnificent guitar riff that had him bobbing his head. Another button didn’t seem to have a use, and he gave up on it after pressing it several times with no noticeable results.

Then he turned his attention to his snacks and grabbed a bag of chips, spinning the chair around to admire the breathtaking view of Elpis spread out before him. His eyes devoured the splendor of Pandora’s moon, idly wondering what it would be like to be in control something so large. Once the thought crossed his mind, there was a tingle of interest in his groin, and he stifled a laugh, unsure why his body had reacted that way but finding it amusing, nonetheless. He munched contemplatively on a handful of chips.

He felt **powerful** in that seat. It was where great things happened, where the fates of entire planets were decided. And as a nice side effect, it was where he forgot his stress when he was nestled into its comfortable, yet firm, back-supporting cushions.

He licked his salty fingers, and with a final glance at Elpis, he spun back around and set the bag of chips on the desk’s surface. His eyes darted down over the numerous drawers before him, and he found himself reaching for the first one at the top-left, sifting through the contents. For the most part, as he made his way through them, he found nothing worth more than a few seconds of his attention—stationery with the same gold-embossed Hyperion logo, writing utensils, and a stapler and staples with which to refill it. There was a drawer stuffed with old, empty candy wrappers, a testament to the man’s poor diet.

Near the bottom on the left side, there was a locked drawer that he couldn’t get into, so he shrugged it off and moved to the right side. He opened the first one near the top, and he didn’t process what he was looking at for a few seconds. Then the realization hit him that there was a bottle of lubricant and a fetish pornographic magazine staring him in the face.

His eyes widened as he took in the lusciously nude woman on its cover. Just the sight of the provocative, bound pose reminded him that it had been too long since he last enjoyed sex, and as a result, he became aroused.

He slammed the drawer shut and sat back guiltily.  

He couldn’t; it would be strange. He hadn’t even pleasured himself once since the surgery because every time he was forced to look at his penis, he knew it wasn’t the one he had been very familiar with. And if he touched it, well, it was like he was touching Handsome Jack’s penis.

…But there were no visitors permitted to enter, as the personal assistant had assured him. Jack wasn’t expected back until the evening, giving him at least a few hours to work up the nerve to do it, finish the job, clean it up afterward, and somehow compose himself with plenty of time left before anyone saw him. And maybe finish his chips.

It was too convenient.

But he was too needy **not** **to**.

He glanced at the drawer then edged forward in his seat, reaching out a tentative hand. His fingers brushed the handle, and he opened the drawer of sin and peeked in at the contents. Sucking in a quick breath, he retrieved the magazine and decided to leave the lubricant, even though it looked tempting. He wasn’t sure he could handle the Hyperion CEO knowing that he masturbated while sitting at his desk, so it was best to leave no evidence.

He unbuckled his belt and undid his pants, and he sighed in relief as the strain across his erection was eased. Eager to get started, he spread the pages open in one hand and took his partially hardened length in the other. His eyes darted over the increasingly obscene, kinky poses which left nothing hidden for his viewing pleasure, and he stroked himself, coaxing his cock to full hardness.

He balanced the magazine on his knee and turned the page. His eyes fluttered shut at the sensations, and his breath hitched in his throat. It had been too long, and it felt so good to touch himself. Soon, he fell back against the seat and just focused on working contently on his orgasm.

The doors to the office sharply hissed open suddenly, and Rhys nearly jumped out of his skin at the abruptness, the magazine dropping to the ground beneath the desk. He cursed profusely under his breath, struggling to shove his cock back into his jeans, but it was extremely painful and refused to cooperate. With a wince, he glanced up to see who his visitor was, already expecting that booming, condescending voice to send him to a whole new ring of his personal hell. What he didn’t expect was a tall woman, a wide-brimmed hat tilted low over her eyes and a sensual sway in her hips as she sauntered toward him. Knee-length boots and a long coat swishing around her legs completed the intimidating look.

Rhys sank down in his seat, hoping the desk would hide his frantic movements while he desperately tucked himself away. His boxers were bulging too much for him to manage to get the zipper up all the way. Embarrassment flooded him, and if he hadn’t been wearing a mask, his blush would be obvious. He forced a neutral expression on his face and settled for untucking his sweater to tug it over his groin and folding his hands in his lap, positioned tactically over the evidence of his arousal.

“’Evenin’, Jackie,” she greeted in her deep, sultry voice as she ascended the stairs.

He wasn’t sure how to appropriately greet the ridiculously attractive woman, as her identity and relationship to Handsome Jack were completely unknown to him. He stared blankly at her for a few too many seconds before responding intelligently, “Uhhh… hi.”

She leaned over the desk, placing her hands on the surface and giving him a long, searching look. “You know why I’m here, so let’s get it outta the way.”

“Yeah, sure,” Rhys readily agreed, waiting for her to take the lead and give him some kind of a hint as to how to react. “Go ahead.”

And ‘go ahead,’ she did. She clambered up on top of the desk and surged forward, grabbing him by the neck and slapping him across the face before he could attempt to defend himself. “You don’t talk to me for a week, then leave a goddamn _text message_ to break up with me? I knew you were an asshole, but I didn’t think you were a coward.”

He didn’t even know what to say to that, as shocked as he was. He was still reeling from the unexpected slap, though the mask had softened the blow, and the fact that Jack had dumped this woman.

Her eyes lazily dropped down his body. To his horror and distress, she noticed his erection and his poor attempts to conceal it. An interested noise came from her throat, and she slid off the desk and into his lap, spreading her legs so she could kneel over him.

His eyes widened dramatically when her hand curled around his neck and squeezed the slightest bit.

“Well, well, what do we have here? I must’ve interrupted somethin’. Hmm… you look like Jack, but you’re definitely not him,” she observed. “Not with that pathetic look on your face. Damn, I always forget about the whole ‘body double’ thing.”

“W-who are you?” Rhys demanded, the waver ruining his stern tone, but he choked on a moan as the very forward woman snaked a hand under his sweater and shoved it down his boxers, taking his leaking cock in hand. He jolted under her, but she swayed with him, keeping her balance with ease. That’s when he noticed the whip tightly coiled at one hip, pistol holstered at the other, and his anxiety doubled.

“I’m Nisha, newly ex-girlfriend, like I said,” she informed him, her voice low and husky. She tugged him out of his boxers and swirled her thumb slowly around the bulbous head of his engorged length, drawing a gasp from him. “I came here to give Jack a piece of my mind, but, obviously, he’s not here. I _suppose_ you’ll do nicely while I wait for him.”

“Listen, lady, I’m just watching things while he’s gone. I-I don’t wanna make him angry.” Rhys should not be letting this happen, not with Jack’s ex-girlfriend. But when he reached down to try to grab her wrist, she reacted faster and captured his first, placing it on her hip instead.

“But _I_ do.” She smirked down at him. “I could use some amusement.”

“Jack is not… amusing when he’s angry,” he argued breathily. “Jeez, you’re… nngh, _talented_.”

“Why, thank ya,” she drawled flatly. “Helps to know the equipment.”

Her hand continued to work him into a trembling mess, and he groaned quietly under her ministrations, thrusting upward encouragingly.

She stroked a few fingers over his neck, wrenching a pleasured shudder from him when she found all of his sensitive areas with practiced ease. “I’m gonna miss fucking in this chair,” she mused.

Rhys gulped in a breath. “W-why? What’s so special about this chair?”

She chuckled and reached down, pressing the button with an unknown use on the armrest a few times. “You’ll find out, sweet thing. Now, hush and enjoy, or I’ll have to gag that pretty mouth. And I _really_ don’t wanna do that.”

He bit his lip and finally let his eyes drift shut as the woman pumped him expertly. He should have been completely mortified that he was being jerked off by a woman he had never met before, but it felt too wonderful. His mind was having trouble grasping to any thoughts that didn’t have something to do with how _fucking good_ it felt, and he was desperately craving some reprieve. And he was so, _so_ close. His hips lifted off the chair slightly in anticipation as warmth flooded his groin, and he chewed on his lip before his mouth fell open in a silent plea, his hands squeezing her hips.

 _Almost… almost there. Just a little bit more._ He was fixated only on his impending release. He craved it. He needed it. He was **desperate**. _Please don’t stop. God, don’t stop._

Abruptly, the office doors once again slid open, admitting a new person, and the shock jolted him away from the delicious precipice leading straight into a mind-numbing orgasm.

“What the _fuck_ is this?” Jack demanded, voice crashing through the vast room like a tidal wave.

Rhys’s heart promptly skipped a few beats, flew into his throat, and lodged itself there. Fear flooded his system. An expression of pure horror etched itself across his face, and he ripped his hands off of Jack’s ex-girlfriend guiltily, holding his hands up in surrender.

Nisha glanced from him to the real Handsome Jack stalking menacingly up the rug toward them. She released Rhys’s stiff flesh and tipped her hat in greeting at him nonchalantly. “Just havin’ a little fun. You have the worst timin’, ya know. Poor thing was so close.”

Jack scowled. “How ‘bout’cha get lost, Nisha? I told ya it was over, and I _really_ hate repeatin’ myself.”

She rolled her eyes and rose from Rhys’s lap, leaving the flustered man to hiss in quiet agony as he attempted to stuff his abused, sensitive cock back into his jeans for the second time that evening. She sauntered around the desk and trailed her fingers up the furious Hyperion CEO’s chest, toying idly with the clasps of his vest. When she reached his collar, she seized him by the fabric with one controlling hand.

Then there was a click of a hammer being cocked, rapidly followed by another, and Rhys could only stare, wide-eyed with alarm, as Jack and Nisha buried pistols in each other’s necks. The draws had been so fluid and swift that he hadn’t been able to follow it all with his eyes. He jumped out of the chair, but he didn’t make any more moves to approach the pair. What could he even do? A shot could be fired before he took two steps.

Jack grabbed a fistful of Nisha’s shoulder-length hair and yanked her head back, and she reciprocated by releasing his collar and grasping a handful of his crotch, which drew a pained hiss from his lips as she squeezed roughly.

“And here I thought you didn’t wanna play,” she commented coyly, appearing completely unconcerned by the weapon digging into her jugular. “ _Mm_ … I’ve gotta say, Jackie, your new toy over there is just the cutest thing. Had him moanin’ for me in _seconds_.”

Jack shifted his gaze toward Rhys for a brief moment before returning his attention to the woman in front of him. His features darkened with anger.

“How ‘bout this? You let me borrow him for a while, and I’ll forgive you for dumpin’ me. I’ll get him back to ya in one piece, but…” she trailed off, peeking between the tiny dark strands of hair hanging in her face, “I can’t promise anything more than that right now.”

“Not gonna fuckin’ happen. And he’s not your type, anyway,” he growled. “You’d be bored with him in an hour.”

She parted her plump lips and flicked her tongue out to wet them, following the action with a dry chuckle. “Oh, really? Why not leave that for me to decide?”

“The only thing you’re gonna decide is if you wanna leave how ya got here—or straight out the goddamn airlock.”

“Hmph. I think I understand what’s goin’ on here.” She eyed him, the threat doing nothing to faze her. “Yeah. You always were a kinky bastard.” She released him and holstered her weapon, with Jack slowly doing the same afterward.

“When you’ve had your fun with that one, give me a call, handsome. You know where to find me.” With those parting words, she blew a kiss and departed the office, leaving the two look-alikes alone.

Jack exhaled sharply, visibly agitated, and he turned to face Rhys, something intense flashing in his eyes.

“S-she forced her way in, sir,” Rhys stammered weakly as Jack neared him. “Sorry. I know you said—”

“—I know.” There was a muscle twitching in his jaw as he regarded his body double. “Nisha doesn’t wait for shit. You could never handle a woman like that, cupcake. She’ll swallow you _whole_.”

“Why’d you dump her?” Rhys dared to ask. “She’s… _hot_. Scary but hot.”

“Somethin’ else caught my attention,” Jack told him, and the way his eyes flicked over Rhys’s body told him exactly what that ‘something’ was. “Probably hard to believe, but I ain’t the cheatin’ type.”

“I didn’t have an opinion about it,” he lied smoothly. When the older man continued to advance on him, he grew alarmed. “W-what are you doing?”

“Stakin’ my claim,” Jack informed him firmly. He spun Rhys around and shoved him down on top of the desk, toppling a few bags of snacks to the floor. He immediately lifted himself up to straddle the younger man’s thighs, leaning down and scraping his teeth along Rhys’s neck, following the same path back upwards with his tongue and leaving a slick trail of saliva. His hot breath puffed over the wet skin of Rhys’s throat, raising gooseflesh. “You’re _mine_ , Rhysie,” he hissed, “and I’m gonna make sure ya realize it.”

With that, he unzipped Rhys’s pants and brought his hypersensitive cock out of his boxers, shoving his sweater up his abdomen until it bunched against his vest. He stroked it languidly, hovering over his body double’s face and watching his expression contort with pained ecstasy. “Look at’cha. You’re so fuckin’ eager to come.”

He **was**. And he needed it to the point where he couldn’t bring himself to care who brought him there. His inhibitions had abandoned him, and he couldn’t form a coherent thought while there was a hand wrapped around him, dragging sensually at the skin of his cock and coaxing pleasured little noises from his throat. The sensations tickled at his senses with renewed vigor, transforming into demanding sparks, and he found himself rapidly approaching orgasm within moments.

“That’s it, kitten… Come for me. I wanna watch ya come  _the fuck_ all over my hand,” Jack whispered lewdly. “You’re such a goddamn **mess** right now.”

“Fff— _fuck!_ ” Rhys cried out, tilting his head back, and the sight invited Jack to lean down and wrap his lips around a patch of skin and suck at it with hungry lips and a graze of teeth, as if any amount of space between them personally offended him. He sucked harshly for a few moments before pulling away with a wet pop of his lips. Then he latched onto another spot, giving it the same treatment and attacking it with his mouth. He repeated the process several more times, peppering Rhys's neck with his palpable possessiveness.

The hand stroking him was relentless, and Rhys was powerless against it. His mouth fell open in a shuddering groan, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Hips twitching upwards, stilling, he came hard and messy in Jack’s hand with several long spurts, which rolled down his shaft and pooled across his abdomen and sweat-soaked boxers. Once the last of his cum had been pumped out, his body fell limp, and he laid there, flushed and utterly exhausted, chest rising and falling rapidly.

There would be time to fully hate himself after he escaped Jack’s watchful eyes, but, for now, he allowed himself to relax in the haze of his orgasm. He didn’t react when the man kissed his lips, instead choosing to stare blankly up at the dark ceiling in his bliss once Jack pulled away.

What had caused him to become so insanely horny that he had willingly accepted a hand job from Handsome Jack? He suspected it had something to do with the chair, as Nisha had hinted at, but he didn’t have a clue what that something was, only that it was powerful.

Whatever the culprit, it wasn’t enough to keep him from jerking out of his mindless stupor violently when a cum-soaked finger was unceremoniously stuffed into his mouth, smearing a bitter saltiness across his lips and taste buds. As quick as he was to chomp his teeth down in a disgusted snarl, Jack was quicker, yanking his finger away with a triumphant smirk stretching across his face.

Then Jack ducked down, and an eager tongue dragged across his mouth, lapping up every smear of semen and dipping briefly between Rhys's lips.

Rhys was left speechless. His first instinct was to spit at Jack, but when he did, gravity intervened, and his saliva landed on his own chin. To his humiliation, the older man snorted and erupted into a fit of cackles at his failed attempt.

With the heady taste of his own semen on his tongue, Jack’s saliva drying all over his neck, and the rapidly cooling evidence of his shame splashed over him, he wondered if the fleeting white nothingness of his orgasm had been worth the consequences. When Jack disappeared briefly from sight and popped back up, pornographic magazine in his hands, a knowing look in his eyes, and a cruel tilt to his lips, Rhys swiftly decided that nothing was worth feeling as shitty as he did then.

_Never again._


	6. ... With Lingering Consequences

Getting to sleep that night was a little more difficult than usual due to his erratic thoughts, and considering the fact that Rhys couldn’t say he was usually able to drift right off into sweet unconsciousness these days, the morning came far too soon in the form of a very hungover Timothy, who held little sympathy for him while in his current state.

“Can’t sleep all day, kiddo,” Timothy informed him quietly, fingertips gingerly pressing into his forehead. Despite his obvious discomfort, the man was fully dressed, with his hair styled to perfection, from what Rhys could see in the light that filtered in from his open door. “Places to annihilate, people to terrorize, and boss’s ass to kiss. Oh—speakin’ of which, Jack wants ya in his office ‘soon as you’re dressed.”

“You look like you had fun,” Rhys commented enviously. He threw his legs over the edge of his bed and blinked rapidly to clear his bleary vision, with little success. It was only after Timothy muttered something about needing to digi-struct a new liver that the previous words really sunk in. “Oh, god. I… I don’t think I can face him today, Tim.”

“Look, Rhys, we already had this conversation,” Timothy argued with a long sigh. He didn’t appear too enthusiastic about being roped into a potentially heated discussion. “Remember what I said? He’s not as bad as ya—”

“No, I mean… he, uh… Well, he j-jerked me off yesterday,” Rhys stammered, growing hot with embarrassment from his admission. “I can’t **face him** today. Do you see what I mean?”

“Huh. I thought’cha didn’t, ya know, swing that way.”

“I don’t. But… _ugh_ , I dunno. It’s complicated. Seriously, I’m still trying to figure out what the hell happened.”

“That’s okay; I don’t think I wanna know all the details.” Timothy paused thoughtfully for a moment before continuing, “But ya know what I’ve learned? As long as you pretend it doesn’t bother ya, he’ll lose interest in tormentin’ ya ‘bout it. So go into his office ready for business, and he’ll pick up on that.”

With heavy reluctance, Rhys forced himself up from the comfort of his bed and onto his bare feet. He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “All right. I’ll try that.”

Then the other body double’s eyes dropped to his neck, and they widened comically. “Oh, jeezus. Wow. _Just_ jerked ya off, huh?”

“…What’re you even talking about?”

“Uhh, maybe… maybe you should go take a look in the mirror.”

With growing dread, Rhys immediately headed for the bathroom, and when he flipped on the light, after wincing at the sudden brightness, his eyes took in the dark bruises that peppered his neck possessively. “Holy sh—I look like I got choked!”

“Actually,” Timothy interjected quietly from the dim of the bedroom, peering over the edge of the doorframe, “‘strangled’ is the term you’re lookin’ for there, just so ya know.”

Slapping a hand self-consciously over his neck, Rhys shot him a look that firmly informed him that now wasn’t the time.

“Er, sorry. Jack is pretty adamant ‘bout the difference.” Timothy darted away. “Heh. I’ll just… be in here… ‘til you’re done.”

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna need a scarf or something.” There was a hint of panic in his voice. “How can I even face anyone with this? Tim, you got a scarf anywhere?”

“Nope. Fair warning, though, if Jack doesn’t try to _strangle_ ya with it first, he’ll rip it off ya so fast your head will spin. Scarves are definitely not his style. But, hey, look at the bright side: Even if he sends ya out for somethin’, it’s not like anyone will question ya about it. I guess that’s one good thing ‘bout bein’ Jack,” the man commented from the bedroom, attempting to soothe Rhys’s frazzled nerves. “It’ll heal. Just try not to panic about it, and… ehhh, maybe no one will notice.”

“Are you freakin’ kidding me? I’m Handsome-goddamn-Jack, and someone marked up my neck like they own me. _Everyone_ is gonna notice.” Rhys pulled his hand away to stare furiously at the dark mess. “And as for healing? Well, I’m just gonna end up making him jealous again for some stupid reason, and—hello, neck-rape session.”

“You made Jack jealous?” Timothy reappeared at the doorframe, intrigued. “How?”

“His ex-girlfriend… was giving me, um, a hand job,” Rhys admitted, his embarrassment flooding him once again as he was forced to relive the previous evening. “He, uh, kinda walked in on it.”

The other body double stared wide-eyed at him, mouth agape. “Wait. First of all, _ex-_ girlfriend? _Nisha?_ ”

“Yup, that’s her,” Rhys mumbled. “I had trouble telling her to stop when she pretty much shoved her hand down my pants. C’mon, what was I supposed to do?”

“I can’t believe it. …Second of all, _shit_ , how many hand jobs did ya get yesterday?”

“Two. But… just one, uh, all the way.” Rhys fidgeted in place, extremely uncomfortable with the conversation and the astonishment written all over Timothy’s face. “Jack—ah… See, I was sitting at the desk, bored out of my mind. Then I just decide to… _you know,_ pass the time. And Nisha comes in while I’m doing _that_ and sits on my lap and… and… Stop looking at me like that! It’s not like I asked for it; I was humiliated the whole time!”

“Sorry. It’s just that… Well, think she’d go for me?”

“I dunno… Maybe?” Rhys eyed him in disbelief. “I thought you liked Moxxi.”

“ _I do_. But that doesn’t mean I’m not interested in other women while she rejects me,” Timothy retorted, slightly defensive. “Hey, I’m single, and I’ve got needs. I can look. Anyway, continue.”

“Continue?” Rhys sputtered. “You said you didn’t want details!”

“You’ve got me curious now, all right? And I’m kinda wonderin’ what I’m doin’ wrong. _I_ go out to a bar, and _you_ get more action just sittin’ at a desk.”

“Oh, my god. _Fiiine_ … But what more is there to say? Jack walks in ridiculously early from his mission on Pandora, sees Nisha having her wicked way with me, and they get into an argument. With **guns**. She leaves, and Jack, uh, forces me on his desk and…” Rhys trailed off and swallowed thickly. “You get it. And I don’t even know why I let it happen. I was completely out of my mind.”

“Huh.”

It was clear that Timothy didn’t really know how to respond to that, and Rhys didn’t blame him. “I think it’s the chair. Do you know anything about it?”

“Chair? _Jack’s_ chair? Uh, no… Should I know anything ‘bout it, other than it’s Jack’s?”

Rhys combed his fingers through his unruly locks and watched the face in the mirror contort with conflict. “I guess not, then. I’ll have to ask Jack about it. …If I can even _look_ at him.”

“You’re lookin’ at him right now,” Timothy quipped dryly.

“You know what I mean!” he snapped.

“Ow, _fuck_ … Not so loud,” Timothy moaned, grabbing his head. He massaged his pounding temples for a moment. “Welp, I’ll let’cha get ready. Oh, and two things before I forget. Slipped your note under your friend’s door for ya yesterday. Hope it doesn’t come back to bite us in the ass. Also, I’m leavin’ tomorrow. Elpis needs me back.”

Rhys paused as he was closing the bathroom door, and the implications of the other man’s words hit him rather hard. He had been growing accustomed to seeing another person around the apartment and being able to talk with him whenever he needed human contact. The prospect of that being taken away so suddenly didn’t settle well, but as Timothy had informed him, he couldn’t just abandon Elpis and lock himself away with Rhys. Besides that, the other body double had a real life, even if it was negotiable as truly his. “Thanks, Tim.”

“Yup. It’s been fun gettin’ to know ya,” Timothy offered kindly over his shoulder as he made his way out of Rhys’s bedroom. “Hope ya stick around long. Still owe ya a fun time out. If you’re ever on Elpis, I’ll give ya one hell of an experience.”

“Same to you,” Rhys responded sincerely as he digested the words fully. “Um, why wouldn’t I stick around long?”

Timothy stopped in the doorway and glanced over his shoulder, something uneasy twisting his features. “Well… there’s a reason there’s no one else in this apartment but you. Uh, maybe we can talk again before I leave tomorrow. I’ll find ya this evening. See ya then, kiddo.”

 

* * *

 

Once his hygienic morning ritual had been completed, with a quick breakfast eaten afterward, he groomed himself spotlessly like the Hyperion CEO. As nice as his clothing and hair were, Rhys was a mess when he approached Jack’s office, his heart pounding in anxiety with every torturous step. Timothy’s advice about pretending nothing had happened was directly at the front of his mind, but outwardly, he was having trouble remaining neutral while his stomach churned uncomfortably. The best he could do was cling to the comforting possibility of seeing his friends.

He had considered a few excuses he could use in an attempt to gain permission to venture out into Helios by himself, but none of them seemed particularly strong enough until he had slipped the picture of him and Vaughn into a pocket of his jeans, which inadvertently reminded him about his unusual encounter with Professor Nakayama—complete with the horrifying visage of the scientist's project, but he only had room in his mind for one traumatizing event, with his recent sexual encounter with Jack being the forefront.

It was all he could come up with—he wanted to personally inform Nakayama that the funding for his project wouldn’t be a feasible use of the company’s assets, and a small part of him stressed over the fact that Jack would be able to poke an enormous hole in his plan because there were faster, more efficient ways of taking care of such a menial task.

If the excuse failed him, what could he do? Being forced to come up with something else on the spot would undeniably fluster him, and he would end up stuttering and sweating a lot—babbling, even, as he has been known to do when lying. Jack was sharp; he’d pick up on all of that, and Rhys’s plan would be completely ruined, leaving him with nothing to work with. He would be forced to resort to desperate measures in order to see his friends, assuming, of course, that Vaughn and Yvette showed up at all—and _how_ would he even begin to set up another meeting without Timothy’s help next time?

And it certainly didn’t help that he had other things that were weighing heavily on his mind and distracting him from his goal. Needless to say, the walk to Jack’s office was one of the longest he’d ever endured, and he was involuntarily twitchy by the time he was a few feet away.

He closed his eyes briefly, rehearsed his speech in his mind, and finally— _finally_ , he was ready.

The doors slid open for him with a low hiss, a greeting on the tip of his tongue. Before he could say a word, a shrill shot rang out, followed swiftly by a noisy crunch and sickeningly wet splatter—and Rhys found himself covered in goopy wetness. He looked down at his hands and clothes— _so much syrupy, bubbly, hot **red**_ —and he grew hysterical quickly, quickly forgetting about his original plan in favor for yelping, “Oh—oh, my god! _What the fuck?!_ ”

“Oops. Goddamn it, cupcake, don’t sneak up on me. I’ve got an itchy trigger finger.”

Rhys trembled like a leaf under a sheen of the brain matter and skull fragments from the now-deceased person slumped to the ground in front of him, and he didn’t have a clue what to do about it. Frozen to his spot, he watched with wide eyes as Jack strolled up to him, cruelly stepping on the corpse on his way.

The Hyperion CEO holstered his pistol and placed his hand atop his hip. “Well, ain’t’cha the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen?” he commented idly, stroking a finger down Rhys’s neck and smearing the blood as he did. His eyes roved over his handy work with satisfaction. “Even with that hilariously freaked-out look on your face. What’s the matter? Never seen someone die before?”

“Why—why…” Rhys gestured frantically at the body when his words failed him. “What the _hell_ , Jack?!”

“Welp, to tell ya the truth, I’m kinda frustrated, and when people are helpin’ the enemy so they can save their worthless lives, I get pissed off. But I guess ya saved me from havin’ to listen to that dickbag snivel for mercy for a few more seconds.” Jack patted him on the cheek. “Stop lookin’ so distressed. I’ll send a reasonable gift basket to his family if it makes ya feel any better.”

“Family… He had a family,” Rhys repeated, dazed. “You just… _killed_ him, and you think a _gift basket_ is going to make up for that?”

“I don’t give a hefty pile of skag shit if it does or not, so take it or leave it.” Jack tromped on the body once again on his way back toward his desk. “Hey, ya know what I just realized? I friggin’ hate this rug. I’ll have janitorial come by later to roll the body up in it and trash ‘em both. Efficiency! Good-goddamn-riddance, right?”

Rhys could only stare in disbelief, trying his hardest not to look down into the blank-eyed gaze of the corpse at his feet.

“ _Any_ way, let me bring ya up to speed. ‘Kay, I’ve been followin’ this group of vault hunters that I’m havin’ _way_ more trouble killin’ than originally anticipated—minor setback, but ya know, not for long. So they’ve got this stupid little base down on Pandora called Sanctuary. Can’t tell ya how long I’ve had some moonshots ready to tear that trash heap down.”

The body double gingerly stepped over the body and cautiously made his way up to where Jack was standing in front of the window overlooking Elpis. The older man was facing away from him, and with the new proximity, he was able to hear him without straining.

“Managed to trick ‘em into bringin’ down their shield around Sanctuary, then moonshot the hell out of it. Now, that would have been it for ‘em, but they’ve got this…” Jack clenched his fists and forced out through gritted teeth, “…red-haired _bitch_ of a siren. She used her freaky-ass powers and teleported their base away before I could completely demolish it.”

“How was he helping the enemy, sir?” Rhys spoke up shakily, referring to the Hyperion worker staining the rug.

“I was gettin’ to that, Rhysie.” He smiled tightly at his body double. “So Sanctuary gets sent somewhere else, and consequently, it’s disconnected from the Fast-Travel Network. Vault hunters steal a lunar supply beacon—it’s this GPS device we use to direct supplies down to Pandora, in case your little mind is havin’ trouble processin’ that—and set it up to have a newly calibrated Fast-Travel Station delivered.”

He bit down on the inside of his cheek. “I _know_ what that is.”

“Sure ya do. Now, quit interruptin’ me. Obviously, I sent a shit-ton of loaders down to destroy that beacon to stop the problem right the fuck there, but when _that_ didn’t work, I used my almighty bureaucratic powers and denied the request for the Fast-Travel Station that our Pandoran satellite sent my way. **That** should have been it. But _nope!_ Oxygen gets cut on the satellite, and those assholes think that just ‘cause they’re suffocatin’, they have the right to ignore my order and send the vault hunters what they need. So here we are. I’ve been wastin’ some time tryin’ to remind ‘em who the hell signs their paychecks.”

Only when the Hyperion CEO raised an eyebrow at him did he feel safe enough to tentatively ask, “How… uh, how did they—the vault hunters, I mean—manage to cut off the oxygen to the satellite?”

“…How, _indeed_. Still workin’ on that.” Jack crossed his arms over his chest and glared intensely out the window. “Goddamn, I need a distraction right about now.”

“Um, actually, I need permission to go to R&D,” Rhys interjected hastily, taking a step back when Jack glanced at him meaningfully, having an idea of what a ‘distraction’ entailed. “Nakayama deserves to know that funding won’t be possible.”

“Nakatijama doesn’t deserve anything but an extremely short leash,” Jack retorted, “and maybe a shock collar to go with it. He wants to be a total creep? Welp… _Bzzzt_ —down, boy!”

“But, sir—”

“—But, pumpkin,” Jack mocked, “I heavily implied, ‘No,’ and that’s a friggin’ order. Lemme remind you that I just killed a dude literally right in front of ya. I mean, if ya wanna keep beggin’, that’s your choice. But seriously, I’m not afraid to discipline my slutty little body double if I have to.”

“I’m not a _slut_ ,” Rhys growled, his shaky resolve to ignore what had happened between them finally crumbling away. “I… I just…”

“Came in my hand in less than two minutes?”

“ **Because** I was—”

“—Jerkin’ off at my desk when you were supposed to be workin’?”

Rhys flushed, ashamed, but it wasn’t visible under his mask. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, fishing for an argument. When he couldn’t think of one quickly enough, he decided to change the subject. “What’s the deal with your chair?”

“Gonna have to be more specific.”

“Your ex-girlfriend told me that—that she’d miss this chair. What’s so great about it?”

“Nisha’s attracted to power, so she feels somethin’ special when she’s in it. So you feel somethin’, too, huh? You attracted to power, cupcake?”

“Not particularly… But it’s just the feeling of power? That’s _it?_ ”

“That’s it.” Jack smiled at him, eyes half-lidded. Then he crooked a finger at Rhys and beckoned him toward the aforementioned chair. “I’ll show ya. Let’s do somethin’ **awesome** together.”

Hesitantly, Rhys lowered himself onto its cushiony depths when Jack motioned for him to do so. He immediately noticed that the keyboard, mouse, and monitor were out, with the monitor displaying multiple windows of surveillance feed from what appeared to be a facility housing some of the creatures he had seen in Research and Development.

Jack, who was standing behind the chair while hovering over him, leaned down and pressed a button, which brought out a second monitor next to the first. The second monitor displayed live footage of a large bird roosting fitfully on a branch.

Now was probably his best opportunity to get an answer to one of his many questions, so he took it. “What does that button do?”

“Which?”

“This one.” Rhys pressed the mysterious button with no apparent use a few times in demonstration. “What does it do?”

“Oh, that one. Uhh, lemme think… Fires a turret loaded with heat-seeking missiles into an orphan kitten nursery every single time ya press it.”

He froze. “…No way. You’re lying.”

“Think so? All right, then. Go on, keep pressin’ it. Maybe somethin’ interestin’ will happen if ya do.” Jack grinned. “I’m gonna enjoy it, whatever the outcome.”

“That’s okay.” Rhys jerked his finger away from the offending button.

“So I’ve got a question for ya. How do you lure a group of vault hunters right into an obvious trap?”

The body double considered it for a moment. “Uh, you have something they want?”

“Hmm, all right, sure, I’ll accept that answer. See that bird?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“It belongs to one of the former vault hunters, and he’s gonna figure out where I have it pretty soon.” Then he whispered conspiratorially into Rhys’s ear, “So we’re gonna turn it into a weapon and give it back to ‘em.”

“How?”

“You familiar with the concept of slag, cupcake?”

“Just that it has something to do with Eridium.” He shrugged helplessly. “I dunno. Wasn’t my department.”

“It’s a by-product when we refine Eridium, and we create that shit in bulk. A couple years ago, I discovered that we could use it as a weapon, so I used it to charge the Eye of Helios before it was destroyed—another thing I’m gonna enjoy _killin’ the **shit**_ outta that Pandoran scum for.”

It wasn’t difficult to make the connection. “You’re gonna… use slag on that bird?”

“Bingo, kitten.” Jack wrapped a controlling hand around Rhys’s neck. “Opened up this facility on Pandora to do some experimentation with slag and realized that it could also mutate livin’, breathin’ creatures into mindless weapons. Ehh… _if_ they lived through the process, that is. Usually killed whatever we used it on, but in this case, it’s a win either way for me.”

“…So it’s gonna hurt it?”

“Probably.” Jack snickered. “ _Hopefully_.” Then he reached past his body double and typed in some commands on the keyboard. “I’ve been pumpin’ this bird with slag for a couple days. So far, it hasn’t died, so it’s lasted longer than most subjects. Resilient little fucker, right? Should start mutatin’ very soon, _then_ comes the really awesome part.”

Rhys stared blankly as the bird was seized around the neck and wings by robotic arms that descended from the ceiling, holding it immobile. Its squawks weren’t audible through the monitor, but its terror was palpable. A syringe loaded with thick purple fluid pierced it through the leg, injecting the entirety of the poison.

Suddenly, Jack jabbed a finger at the monitor excitedly and slapped him on the shoulder. “Aha, there! Watch. _Watch_. See the magic?”

The bird writhed in agony while the slag tore through its circulatory system, and it struggled against its restraints with animalistic desperation, its beak gaping wide open. Its skin was stretched paper-thin, exposing engorged veins and allowing them to see as fine bones snapped apart and regrew as it expanded in size.

It was sickening, but Rhys couldn’t look away while the mutation continued, mainly because Jack was holding him by the neck again.

“Slag increases the target’s susceptibility to the elements. I’ve got a syringe collar attached to its neck, so I can inject it with concentrated doses,” Jack informed him with sadistic glee. His heterochromatic eyes devoured the sight. “It’ll become imbued however I want. Imagine it—corrosive acid drippin’ from its mouth. Or… or electricity cracklin’ behind it when it swoops down and pecks out the eyes of those goddamn vault hunters. I can already picture the looks on their faces when I turn this beautiful beast against ‘em.”

Rhys had no trouble imagining what the Hyperion CEO was describing to him, watching as the gigantic bird broke free from its restraints with ease and tore its way through its habitat with mindless aggression. A small part of him acknowledged that it did sound incredibly awesome, but at what cost? He was conflicted after having watched the bird’s suffering descent into madness.

“And the best friggin’ finale— **explosives**. Urgh, not, uh… Not that I’m tryin’ to sound like that dumbfuck Torgue. Anyway, when I’m done with the bird, I blow it _the fuck_ up, preferably takin’ out some of my problem at the same time. What’d’ya think?”

“That’s…” Rhys shook his head helplessly. “…I-I don’t even know what to say.”

“Look at it,” Jack husked. “Doesn’t it make ya feel powerful, Rhysie? We made that.”

“No. It makes me feel sick.” The younger man didn’t want to claim any part of its forced mutation.

“This bird’s killed so many people. Imagine all the throats it ripped out at its master’s command.” Jack’s breath tickled his ear. “Are ya sure you don’t feel powerful puttin’ a stop to that… and bein’ a hero?”

Rhys hesitated for a long moment, staring at the screen. “…I-I don’t know.”

“Welp, you can think on that for a while. I’ve got an ambush to plan, so I’ll be back later. Since you’re already up here, you can stay right where ya are. Ain’t that just convenient?”

“Can I at least go back to the apartment to clean up and get some snacks?” Rhys turned his head away from the monster on the monitor so he didn’t have to look at it anymore. “… Not that I’m feeling very hungry right now. Ugh.”

Jack moved around him and logged out of his computer, retracting all of the electronics back into the desk with another few taps of the buttons on the armrest of the chair. “Yeah, whatever. But that’s all you’re allowed to leave for, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And try not to have too much fun without me.” Jack winked at him before strutting out of the office.

Needless to say, Rhys didn’t even glance at the drawer of sin, and when he was sure Jack had enough time to leave for Pandora, his feet took him out of the office, giving the corpse and congealing puddle of blood a wide berth. His mind and heart still weighed heavily with the torture of the bird and the nameless worker’s death, but he tried not to stress over it.

The same personal assistant was again stationed outside, he noted, and he offered her a tiny nod of acknowledgement, forgoing any flirtatious banter this time. His somber mood just didn’t allow for the motivation to embarrass himself any further in front of her.

To her credit, she didn’t appear too startled by his blood-soaked appearance, as she was probably somewhat accustomed to it from working personally for Handsome Jack.

Once he arrived in his apartment, he jumped in the shower and scrubbed himself until his skin was pink and raw, though he still felt gross afterward. Changed into fresh clothing for the second time that day, he snagged some snacks from the kitchen and realized that Timothy had once again disappeared—not that he blamed him; who would want to stay cooped up in the apartment all day? If Rhys had the option of going somewhere other than between two places, he certainly would have taken it.

As he prepared to make his way back up to the office, he paused and stared contemplatively at the keypad. A quick glance at his ECHO-comm confirmed that it was about the time he had given Vaughn through his note, and he wondered if his friends were standing around in the shopping district waiting for his arrival.

His excuse hadn’t worked, as he had dreaded it wouldn’t, but fortuitously enough, Jack wasn’t around. Would the older man really notice if he slipped away for a little while? He was doubtful that Jack spent much time going through surveillance footage, as ridiculously busy as he was.

After taking a moment to abandon his snacks on one of the couches, he took in a deep breath and reached for the elevator keypad, ID card in his other hand.

_“Wait.”_

The voice came from seemingly nowhere, and it had Rhys startling and glancing around to find its source, to no avail. He retracted his finger, nonetheless. “Um, who said that?”

_“Every use of that elevator is logged for Jack’s review. If you want to see your friends, you’re going to need my help.”_

“What… Who are you? _Where_ are you? Why do you know about this stuff?” Rhys questioned. Finally pinpointing where the voice was emitting from, he pulled out his ECHO-comm, looking down at the screen, which was lit up with ‘4N631.’ He stared at it, puzzled, not remembering it being in his approved contact list.

 _“I can’t say much right now, but know that I’m a friend,”_ the cool, feminine voice—which sounded vaguely familiar to Rhys, but he wasn’t sure why—informed him. _“Also, I’m sorry to intrude, but it’s difficult for me not to. I… can see everything that happens on Helios and most of Pandora and Elpis.”_

“That’s very disconcerting,” Rhys admitted, trying not to think about the implications of that. He shot the keypad a longing look before stepping back into his living space. “But thanks, you know, for telling me about the elevator.”

 _“You’re welcome,”_ she responded. _“The reason I’m mentioning it is mainly because I can modify the log entries for you after you use it, if you want to leave without Jack knowing.”_

“You… you would do that for me?” Rhys perked up the slightest bit, daring to hope, though he was still slightly skeptical.

 _“Yes. But I’m going to need something in return.”_ She paused. _“…Actually, I’ll just say it. I really need your help and your absolute discretion.”_

“That, uh, sounds like a lot of pressure when you put it that way. Um, what do you need from me?”

 _“Truthfully, it’s because of your likeness to Jack that I’m seeking you out.”_ Hastily, she continued, _“But I’ve noticed your plight, and it would be a simple task for me to allow you the chance to see your friends.”_

“Yeah, I figured.”

 _“I am still working out the details, but I will have them ready for you very soon. All you’ll have to do is transport them to the right person. In addition, I require your absolute secrecy about this conversation and any in the future.”_ After some hesitation, she implored, _“Please don’t tell Jack that you ever spoke to me. He can’t know about any of this.”_

“I won’t tell him,” Rhys promised, “and I’m not sure how much help I’ll be, but I’ll do my best.”

 _“You’ll do great,”_ she assured him. _“I knew I could trust you.”_

With that, she disconnected from his ECHO-comm, and he stepped back into the elevator. Placing his trust in the mysterious woman, he swiped his card and tapped the button to take him down to the Hub of Heroism. He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. His heart began to pound at the very real consequence of being caught out of his apartment, but he knew it was the right choice.


	7. Treasuring Old Friends ...

When Rhys stepped out into the bustling, sunlit entertainment center that was the Hub of Heroism, almost immediately, he could feel his mood lightening somewhat, just being around other people—even if all of them gave him the same berth as he did the corpse still growing stiff in Jack’s office and eyed him with envy, lust, or reverence. Was he becoming slightly more comfortable in Jack’s skin? He seriously doubted it, but he couldn’t deny that facing Helios as Jack for the third time didn’t fill him with extreme trepidation as it did the first few times. After all, he secretly had always wanted the attention, as soured as it was swathed in the identity of another person.

The shopping district wasn’t too terribly far of a walk from Jack’s office, and he didn’t drop character for an instant on the way, though he was brimming with a strange combination of anxiety and excitement. There was also the fact that he knew that every single person was curious about the bruising around his neck, but as Timothy had predicted, nobody had the gall to approach him about it. Consequently, he quickly forgot about it and kept his eyes straight ahead, ignoring everyone around him and focusing entirely on his destination.

Vaughn and Yvette were huddled together on a bench near the center of the shopping district, as he had requested in his note, and they were bent over their ECHO-comms, appearing very concentrated. He knew he was slightly late to meet them, but it couldn’t be helped; not that it mattered because _they were here_ , and he had a chance to speak to them, provided he didn’t completely scare them away first. He only quickened his steps the slightest bit, but people still dove from his path as if he were a rampaging vault monster. His eyes were on his friends and nothing else, and there was already a little smile tugging on his lips.

He stopped in front of them and placed his hands atop his hips, towering over them. His heart swelled at the sight of them, and it was the most painful thing to restrain himself from plopping down in between them and throwing his arms around their shoulders. _In time_ , he told himself. Maybe there would be time for that later on. He just had to get the hard part out of the way and somehow convince them that he was Rhys. He hoped that the strangeness of the situation would help reinforce that—would the real Handsome Jack ever go up to random people and try to convince them that he’s somebody else as a joke? Rhys seriously doubted that, especially since the older man’s brand of humor usually involved more bloodshed and terror. No, this was too tame in comparison.

And as for how he’d ever pursue a normal friendship with them again after this… well, that was something to stress over in the future. For now, he was content just living in the present and trying to pretend that his actions didn’t have severe consequences looming ahead of him like an impending natural disaster. He just couldn’t be bothered to care at the moment.

Vaughn finally acknowledged his presence, his eyes sweeping up Rhys’s attire and widening appropriately as the familiar appearance registered in his mind. It was clear that he already knew who he was looking at before his eyes ever reached the infamous masked face.

“H-Handsome Jack!” Vaughn yelped, stumbling up from his seat and bowing his head. It was intended to be a respectful gesture, but he appeared more like someone awaiting the blade of a guillotine to fall over his neck than simply greeting his superior. “Sir!”

Rhys knew the absolute, exaggerated horror that crossed his short friend’s features was completely justifiable because how many people could say they’ve been approached by the Hyperion CEO more than once and were still bodily intact? Certainly a small handful.

Yvette quickly followed Vaughn’s example, equally shocked. “G-good morning, sir,” she stammered, head dipping.

“Mornin’, kiddos.” He flashed his pearly white teeth at them in an attempt to soothe their nerves, but it seemed to only fill them with more anxiety about his possible intentions with them, if their guarded postures were any indication. “Mind followin’ me?”

Immediately following a brief, shared sidelong look, they shook their heads so quickly that Rhys was certain they would have consented to any order he gave to them.

… _Okay_ , he was having a little bit of guilty fun at their expense because he was just so happy to see the both of them—but he wouldn’t let it go on for too much longer. He just needed privacy to speak to them, and he knew just the place. With a curl of his fingers, he gestured for them to follow him, and he sliced a path through the nameless, faceless people with ease with his friends trailing behind him like a pair of skittish kittens.

Like a similar thought he once had, there were perks to being Handsome Jack, if he could ever be happy masquerading as an asshole to every person that crossed his path. He would have had to push his way through the crowd otherwise and ended up shoved in return more than once for his rudeness.

Jack could have shoved anyone he wanted to, and the recipient would have marveled at his or her good fortune, simply being touched by the mortal god himself.

Not that Rhys intended to shove anyone, even if he were in a real hurry.

After only minutes, they entered the terminal between Helios and its extensive research department, and Rhys noticed the ever-present Hyperion guards who would be a hindrance if they were to listen in on his private conversation. He shrugged to himself and decided it was time to seriously test his training.

“All right, boys, gonna need some privacy in here,” Rhys called. “How ‘bout’cha clear out for a bit so Handsome Jack can have a friendly chat with his employees?”

“Yes, sir!” they answered unquestioningly and left their posts, filtering out into Helios. Once they had all departed, the doors slid shut behind them, leaving the two quaking employees with their intimidating boss and his mysterious intentions.

“Oh, _god_ ,” Vaughn blubbered like a man facing his imminent death. “This isn’t about the torrenting, is it? I know it’s illegal, but the library only has one copy of _Elder Dragon of Pandora_. And the guy who rented it won’t freakin’ bring it back, I swear!”

“I thought you brought me here for Rhys, not some stupid, nerdy movie!” Yvette gasped, eyes wide behind her glasses. “Please, I-I don’t know anything about that!”

“It’s not stupid,” the short accountant hissed back defensively. “Oh, my god—oh, my **god**. That movie is good, but it’s not worth _dying_ over!”

Rhys pressed a hand to his mouth at their reactions and stifled a laugh, unable to completely contain it. He seriously had missed his friends and needed this. “Guys, _calm down_. You’re not in trouble.”

“We-we’re not?” Vaughn stammered, blinking up at him in shock. “Then what…”

“Remember the note you got?” At the slow nod he received, Rhys continued, “Well… okay, brace yourselves. _I_ sent it to you.”

He appeared so terribly confused, and he glanced at Yvette for help, but she only offered him a helpless shrug of her shoulders. Then he returned his attention to what he perceived to be **the** Handsome Jack. “Um. Okay… so, uh, you know where my friend is, um, Mr. Handsome Jack, sir?”

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath and gave them the most earnest look he could manage, and he wondered how strange it appeared on his borrowed face. Deciding to get to the point, he informed them, “All right, this might sound kinda weird, but **I’m** Rhys.”

There was a lengthy silence that stretched on to the point of heavy awkwardness while Vaughn could only slowly blink at him, as if he were having trouble processing the words.

Yvette was having similar difficulties, and she glanced between Vaughn and her boss several times before interjecting, “Is this some kind of elaborate joke, Vaughn? I’m not at all amused. You know how much—how much I miss Rhys…”

“I… I… I didn’t!” he responded defensively, holding up his hands in surrender. “I swear I don’t know what the hell is going on right now. I don’t even know how to _react_. And you know I miss Rhys just as much as you do, if not _more_.”

“ _I’m Rhys_ ,” the man in question insisted again. “You’ve gotta believe me, guys. Remember the cybernetic program I signed up for? Well, I was forced into becoming Handsome Jack’s body double instead.”

“I’m sorry— **what**?” His short friend stared at him wide-eyed. “Body double?”

Wordlessly, Rhys dug out the wrinkled poster from his pocket and unfolded it, shoving it forward so his friends could see it clearly. “It was the last day of sophomore year. I got an invitation to a frat party, so I decided to bring you with me, Vaughn. Remember? Those assholes decided to play a prank on you partway through, and you were so embarrassed that you wanted to leave. So we picked up some used video games from our childhood and some cartons of ice cream and took them back to the dorm room. We stayed up all night playing and just laughing like idiots all the way through. Ended up getting ice cream in one of the controllers and breaking it— _somehow_.”

Throughout the explanation, Vaughn grew more and more shocked until his mouth had dropped open. “R- _Rhys_ …?”

“It’s me, buddy.” He spread his hands out at his sides and shrugged. “Seriously, would the real Handsome Jack ever say something like this? I don’t know how else to convince you, unless you want me to start telling Yvette all your dirty little secrets you’ve only told me about.”

“N-no, that’s—that’s not necessary,” he assured hastily, ignoring the way Yvette’s eyebrows shot up her forehead when she gave him a meaningful look. “And yeah, I guess you’re right. I… I, um, really don’t think I could picture the real—well, I mean, I _can_ picture it just fine right now because _you’re_ Handsome Jack and you’re— **wow** , I don’t even know what to say right now,” he babbled.

“You’re saying plenty,” Rhys quipped with a laugh, refolding the paper and returning it to his pocket.

“Heh, yeah, I guess so. Um, I… I’d hug you, but…” Vaughn fiddled with the ends of his shirt nervously. “I’m just so confused. I know you’re my bro, but my mind is telling me that hugging Handsome Jack is a terrible, terrible idea.”

“I know.” He smiled sadly. “I get it, trust me.”

“And it’s just _weird_ , you know?” Vaughn continued heatedly. “Every time I see Handsome Jack from now on, I’m gonna wonder if it’s you or—or **him**. I never thought I’d have that problem!”

“So how _are_ you, Rhys?” Yvette cut through Vaughn’s incessant babbling with a pointed glance at his bruised neck, painfully reminding him that it was still there. “I can’t even imagine how you’re taking this crazy change.”

“I’m…” he began, hesitating. Could he bring himself to tell them the truth, to spill his turbulent thoughts on them and burden them with knowing that he was miserable with no way out? He had done that to Timothy, and the other man’s reaction, as a total stranger, made him feel guilty. He could only imagine how his best friends would react to how unhappy he was.

“You’re…?” they echoed.

“I’m okay,” he finally lied, keeping his tone light. “I don’t like it, but I’m gonna have to make the best of it, right? What else can I do?”

Vaughn eyed him skeptically for a few long moments, searching his face for any hint that there was something more to it, but he soon gave up when nothing seemed amiss. “Are we ever gonna be able to hang out, Rhys?”

For a moment, he recalled his conviction to say good-bye to his friends now that he had the perfect opportunity to do so without interruptions, but with the mysterious ‘4N631’ on his side, he dared to anticipate being able to slip out in the future and see them again. Was he getting ahead of himself? _Definitely_. He wasn’t even completely sure if he was out of danger for his current trip, let alone in the future, but that wasn’t strong enough to keep from opening his mouth and muttering, “God, I hope so.” Then at his friends’ visible concern, he continued hastily, “I mean, Jack has me doing so much. I’m always so busy now. Kind of a demanding job, you know?”

“No, we _don’t_ know,” Yvette responded. “I don’t think we’ll ever know. But we’ll take your word for it. I mean, **body double**? How could they have gotten away with this if you didn’t sign up for it?”

“A very sneaky contract,” he muttered, his eyes dropping to his feet in shame. “I got seriously tricked into it. It pissed me off at first—”

“—Uh, yeah! An understatement, I’m sure.”

“—But… you know, I’m getting used to it. Kinda.” He swallowed thickly. “Pays well. Um, I’m the CEO of the most powerful company in the galaxy— _kinda_.” Then he felt the need to defend himself with yet another lie, quickly adding, while gesturing at his neck, “And, heh, I get more attention from ladies.”

Trying to describe the few pros of his situation only made him feel more pathetic, and he hoped that his friends hadn’t picked up on that too much. He was trying his hardest to appear like his life wasn’t completely ruined, even if it felt that way.

“Well, I miss you, bro. Like, a lot,” Vaughn mumbled.

“Same,” Yvette chimed in. “It’s so strange when you’re not around—empty, almost. We’re always talking about how much we miss your stupid-funny comments.”

“’Miss you guys, too.” Rhys reached out toward Vaughn, his hand curling into a fist, and he held it suspended in air expectantly. A little grin spread over his face when the short man shoved his glasses up his nose and returned the gesture, bumping his fist against the body double’s.

“Maybe you could use your new CEO powers and get that guy to bring the movie back for me?” Vaughn suggested sheepishly, and it was obvious he was joking to lighten the mood—after all, he had clearly already torrented it. “I mean, when you’re not too busy.”

Rhys couldn’t help but laugh. “C’mon, already fishing for benefits? You sound more like Yvette trying to get free food.”

“Now that you mention it… you probably have a hefty bank account now, huh?” Yvette added, a sly smirk crawling over her face.

 _Oh_ , he had missed them so much, more than his words could begin to describe.

 

* * *

 

After he departed from his friends, thoroughly entertained from their friendly banter—as if he had never disappeared—with a promise to do his best to contact them again soon, Rhys decided that he would take a moment more and deal with the remainder of his unfinished business, since he was already conveniently nearby.

He entered Research and Development and wandered aimlessly through the labs in search of the elusive Professor Nakayama. Somehow, he managed to find the familiar digital screen which projected, ‘Lab 19,’ at him, but when he stepped inside, it was disappointingly empty. As he backtracked, he questioned a few passing scientists as to the older man’s whereabouts, but he wasn’t given any useful information, as it seemed nobody paid enough attention to Nakayama. Just as he was about to give up and head out, a voice, accompanied by a frantic patter of footfalls, rang out loudly behind him.

“Handsome Jack, sir— _wait!_ ”

Rhys turned at the desperate call just in time to watch an overeager Nakayama, potted plant cupped securely in his hands, trip over his own feet in his haste and land roughly a short distance away with a sharp exhale. The brilliantly yellow flower and soil flew from the pot and showered the ground at his feet.

“Oh… hey there. I was lookin’ for ya,” Rhys greeted awkwardly. He watched as the scientist recovered quickly and knelt before him to tend to the mess he had made.

“Ah— _really?_ ” Nakayama gasped excitedly, pausing in his task to give Rhys an adoring look.

“Yeah… But, uh, what’cha got there?”

“Oh! This is…” he trailed off unsurely, brushing a finger gently over one of the soft, thin petals. “Well, I, uh, haven’t come up with a good enough name for it yet, to be completely honest.”

The body double wordlessly encouraged him to elaborate with a puzzled quirk of his brow.

“It’s _such_ an incredibly rare specimen,” Nakayama admitted with a breathless wheeze. He scooped handfuls of the soil from the ground, gently packing it in. “From what I’ve learned, I’m the first educated person to find it— _hee hee_ _hee_ , you know those filthy Pandoran types. They’d sooner eat something than try to study it, the idiots.” He smirked and then cleared his throat. “Anyway, I transplanted a few samples from a cave deep in Pandora, and I’ve been nurturing them ever since. So once I think of a name, I’ll have my discovery recorded.”

“Neat,” Rhys commented. “But I thought you were a… a…”

“Geneticist?” he offered helpfully. He bit at his lip and glanced up at Rhys quickly. “Um, _yes_ , of course! But I… have an interest in botany and horticulture.”

“So what’s so special about this plant?”

“Oh, **so** much. It thrives in the harshest environments, and it uses everything in its surroundings to survive. As it grows, its roots seek out other plants and feed off them. Once it has no more use for another plant, it kills it off. And even though it’s highly poisonous, plants and animals flock to it just to bask in its infinite glory and sweet pheromones.” The skinny man sighed longingly, something faraway in his half-lidded eyes. “It has the loveliest _erotic_ scent.”

Rhys arched his eyebrows high on his forehead.

“And it’s _yellow_ ,” Nakayama gushed, as if the previous details were miniscule in comparison. “It must be **fate**.”

“Uh-huh…”

Nakayama finally rose to his feet and brushed off his knees with one hand. His eyes briefly left Rhys’s and darted down to the mess of bruising standing out harshly on his neck. After only seconds, any cheerfulness in his features dropped off and was replaced with ill-restrained betrayal. The scientist struggled to speak, with little success. He sniffled and blinked rapidly, and there was a waver to his voice when he finally inquired, “Uh, so… w-what did you need to see me for, sir?”

Rhys hesitated, taking in the glassy sheen of Nakayama’s eyes and the slight tremble of his slender shoulders. “I… was just gonna tell ya that…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it, that the funding would not be possible and that his project would have to be trashed. He also wanted to defend himself and point out that the love bites littering his neck were not because he willingly allowed them to happen, if only to keep Nakayama from crying, which he appeared very close to doing. But ultimately, he swallowed all of his excuses and instead lied, “…That I haven’t heard back from accounting yet. Lazy assholes, right? They should know that Handsome Jack doesn’t wait.”

Nakayama nodded jerkily at his rather half-assed words. “I would _never_ make you wait, sir.”

Rhys rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “So… yeah. I’m gonna get goin’ now.” But before he could turn away, the other man took a step forward, then another, closing the distance, and he found the potted flower pushed into his hands.

“For you!” Nakayama squeaked. “It’s… for you. I found it— _just for **you**_.”

“Oh, uh… thanks.” The gratitude slipped out on autopilot as Rhys glanced down at the rare Pandoran flower, feeling worse as he reluctantly accepted it.

The scientist scurried away without another word, leaving him to make his way back toward the exit.

 _“I’ve noticed that scientist has an **affinity** for you,”_ the feminine voice from earlier interjected. _“That’s good. Maybe he’ll be able to help us.”_

“You’ve seen his work, though, right?” Rhys broached hesitantly, retrieving his ECHO-comm to speak to her. “I mean, I’m sure he’s a smart guy, but you think you can trust him?”

_“At this point, I’m not entirely picky. I’m taking care of all the technical details. I’ll just need someone to construct it for me—and someone to deliver it.”_

“Fair enough. So what can I call you? I’m just gonna take a wild guess here and say your name is… Angel?”

_“You guess correctly, but please don’t use my name anywhere near Jack. I’m not entirely sure, but I think it could be the equivalent of falling asleep in the jaws of a hungry skag.”_

“Ah, that Pandora monster thing.” He nodded even if he wasn’t sure she could see it through the voice-only call. “Got your metaphor. Loud and clear. Yeah, that would be very bad, and I’m gonna go ahead and avoid that.”

 _“Yes, I…”_ she trailed off and then paused for a long moment, leaving Rhys to wonder if she had disconnected, before she continued suddenly with a hint of urgency in her normally dispassionate tone, _“Oh, no—Jack’s coming back. You need to hurry.”_

Anything left of the good mood that had pleasantly descended on the miserable body double suddenly dissipated, and an icy hand cruelly gripped his heart at her words. He immediately broke into a run, flying past bewildered scientists and not giving a second thought as to how it might look that the Hyperion CEO was running away with sickened horror all over his face. “Oh, god,” he gasped.

_“I don’t know why he’s coming back, but he’s going to look for you in his office first. You have approximately a minute and a half before he checks your apartment.”_

“Oh, **god** ,” he repeated, increasingly horrified. “Angel, you have to help me!”

 _“I will. Trust me. I can change the logs as soon as you use the elevator,”_ she assured him calmly. _“What should they say?”_

He was unable to think while he was so panicked, and as out of shape as he was, he was already short of breath and trying to focus on putting one foot in front of the other—struggling not to picture what Jack’s wrath would consist of if he found out about the secret outing. “I… I don’t know!”

 _“Don’t make a spectacle in the Hub of Heroism,”_ was the last thing she advised to him as he stepped out into the public eye, and she disconnected, leaving him to compose himself and speed-walk his way back.

“ _Move!_ ” he ended up barking in his frazzled state when a young couple failed to notice his approach, as they were too engrossed in their ECHO-comms. He had no time to feel guilty for startling them so badly that they had dropped the expensive electronics on the unforgiving ground when they jumped apart at his command. His only thought was that it was difficult to keep his face neutral when all he could do was count down the seconds until he was abso- _fucking_ -lutely screwed.

He dove into the elevator and took it up to Jack’s office, sweating profusely and heart beating with abandon. It was then that he realized with another shot of horror through his chest that he was still holding Nakayama’s gift and had carried it for all of Helios to see. He set it down against the back wall and edged away from it, hoping beyond hope that it wouldn’t incriminate him.

Just as the elevator reached the correct floor, and he was allowed to exit, the doors snapped shut mere inches away from his nose.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Angel informed him. _“Manual override. Hold on tight.”_

He had no time to react before he was thrown bodily against the side as the elevator abruptly lurched downwards, and he gripped the railing to keep his tentative footing. The elevator jolted to an even more abrupt stop, opening up on his apartment—and a very unimpressed-looking Hyperion CEO, who turned at his arrival and shot him a dark look which promised pain.

“Where **were** you?” Jack demanded, the usual lazy drawl in his voice gone in favor for something serious and sharp as jagged glass. “I gave you orders, and I expected you to follow them, Rhys.”

Rhys’s mind worked rapidly—desperately—to come up with something, churning through possible responses, until he thankfully recalled something Timothy had said to him. “ _Your track!_ ” Rhys gasped out, appropriately breathless from his hasty journey all the way from R&D.

Jack eyed him with heavy suspicion and a hint of anger before retrieving his own ECHO-comm. He perused it for a few excruciating moments before glancing back up at Rhys, eyes hooded. “…All right. Tim told ya about it, I guess?”

“Y-yes,” Rhys stammered. “I’m sorry. I know I should’ve asked first.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Jack agreed, “and I didn’t say you could skip out on work and go do whatever ya want, did I?”

“No, sir. I’m sorry,” Rhys repeated submissively. He bowed his head, his pulse thumping wildly in his ears. He could feel sweat beading at the back of his neck as Jack approached him.

The older man grabbed him around the arm and yanked him from the safety of the elevator, steadying him when he stumbled over his own feet. Then he hooked a finger under Rhys’s chin and dragged his face upwards. “You make it so friggin’ hard to stay angry with ya. I’ll let’cha off this time, but next time ya fuck up, we’re gonna have a **long** talk.” He paused for a moment to let that sink in. “And I’ll get’cha some more suitable clothing for runnin’ in.”

Rhys let out a quiet exhale and nodded, feeling as if he had dodged a bullet. “Okay, thanks.”

The finger under his chin released him and trailed along the sharp angle of his jaw, up and over his cheek and to the clasp at the left side of his forehead. He struggled not to twitch under the feather-light touch as the clasp was popped open, and again when the hand darted to the other side, popping the right one open in the same fashion. Then his chin hinge quickly followed, allowing the mask to be peeled from his face and tossed aside carelessly toward a nearby coffee table.

He stared at Jack with puzzlement, pondering the new expression that took hold of the older man’s face. He watched the heterochromatic eyes rove slowly over his face, as if memorizing every tiny detail, but he wasn’t sure why Jack seemed so enthralled—didn’t he see the same thing all the time in the mirror? Perhaps it was some more of the man’s narcissism showing.

Palms brushed his cheeks, thumbs tracing his earlobes, as the hands curled and cupped his face, and he immediately dreaded what was coming next.

Jack neared Rhys, and the strange moment between them passed as he smashed their lips together demandingly. In no time at all, the kiss became intense, consuming, as if Jack were trying to eat his face, and the body double squirmed under it.

His lips were rather dry and scraped against the other man’s uncomfortably, but Jack quickly fixed the problem by tugging his lower lip into his mouth and creating a light suction on it, following it with a flick of his tongue. The slick muscle then darted into Rhys’s mouth, swirling around his and encouraging him to participate, with little success.

Rhys shoved against Jack’s chest to express his displeasure since his protests were muffled and incomprehensible, but the Hyperion CEO countered with a rougher shove of his own, one that had the body double stumbling backwards and falling in a messy flail of limbs on the couch.

Jack followed him and immediately straddled his lap. He forced his head back against the back of the couch and resumed their kissing eagerly, adding to the mixture a sharp nip of teeth and a wandering hand that darted between their bodies, untucking his sweater from his jeans.

Neither had noticed that the elevator had departed from the floor or even that it arrived with the faint noise of the doors sliding open. Only once there was an exaggerated clearing of someone’s throat did they take notice, but it did little to discourage Jack from sliding his hand down the front of Rhys’s jeans and combing through the dark curls of his pelvis in a slow, deliberate massage.

With a grunt, Rhys reached down and wrapped a hand around the man’s tattooed wrist to prevent him from going any further, but Jack seized it with his free hand and yanked it away in response, giving him a warning squeeze.

“ **Hey there** ,” Timothy greeted loudly. “I’m here, if you guys wanna, ya know, take notice.”

“And just in time for the _hottest_ goddamn threesome,” Jack teased when he pulled back reluctantly from his body double’s soft lips, his hand still rubbing Rhys’s pelvis suggestively, his motions of his hand incriminating beneath the tight fabric.

“Uh, no… _thanks_. Just grabbin’ somethin’ I forgot.” Timothy impressively ignored what appeared to be a hand job taking place, instead holding out the potted flower for them to see. “Looks like you’ve got an admirer, Jack. Found it spilled all over the elevator.”

The Hyperion CEO turned his head slightly and wrinkled his nose at the sight of it. “’The hell am I supposed to do with that shit? Go burn it, why don’t’cha, Tim-Tams?”

“Sure thing.” He tucked it under his arm and disappeared into his room for only a few moments. With a quick wave that suggested he wanted to pretend he hadn’t walked in on two Jacks in a very precarious position, he zipped away, leaving the two of them alone once again.

Rhys didn’t get the chance to think of something to fill the silence with while Jack’s hand was tangled in his pubic hair because his lips were covered once again. He was forced into another brief but possessive kiss, one with excessive saliva and an overeager tongue, which traced the seam of his lips and trailed down his chin.

“I wanna bone your tight little hole _so hard_ ,” Jack told him huskily, the words hot and heavy against his skin. “Ya know, I don’t say this much, but sometimes it sucks bein’ on top. No friggin’ time for fun.”

“Yup, sucks,” Rhys agreed with a hint of sarcasm, using his uncaptured hand to wipe the smear of wetness from his face. He was extremely grateful when Jack completely pulled away and rose to his feet, leaving him to droop bonelessly on the couch. The sharp tent in the other man’s jeans was an awkward sight, level with his eyes.

“’Kay, welp, here’s the plan for tomorrow,” Jack began, all business, as if he weren’t sporting a very obvious erection—something Rhys had come to notice he was proficient at. “Gonna bring ya some shorts, and you’re gonna go runnin’ at the track. Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll go with ya. After that, you’re gonna join me at my desk for a few hours while I completely **decimate** some bandit trash. Got word that they’re gettin’ ready to head toward my little surprise early the next morning, so that should be fun to watch.”

“All right,” he agreed slowly. “The, uh, _surprise_ —that’s the bird, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jack purred. “Gonna be so goddamn hot. Maybe I’ll get the lube out, and we can **fuck** afterwards.”

“ _Jeezus_ ,” Rhys muttered, slapping his hands over his eyes and scrubbing at them tiredly.

“And ya think I’m jokin’!” was what Jack left him with as he laughed his way out of the apartment, but Rhys truthfully hadn’t taken it as a joke for a second.

 _“I’m so sorry, Rhys,”_ Angel spoke up once he was completely alone. _“I didn’t realize Jack had installed new security cameras in his office. They’re disconnected from Helios’s mainframe entirely, so I didn’t notice them. It was my fault that you were caught. I’ll need to be more careful in the future about that in case he does it again somewhere else.”_

“It’s all right,” he assured her lightheartedly, though the new information regarding security cameras in Jack’s office filled him with embarrassment as he recalled his masturbation session. “It’s because of you that I got to see my friends in the first place. You changed the elevator log when I gave him the track excuse, didn’t you?”

 _“Yes, I did. That was great thinking.”_ Then she added, _“We… we make a good team.”_

“We do, don’t we?” He smiled faintly at her rather shy words, finding them endearing, but then the smile faded away. “But, hey, sorry you had to see—uh, **that** , Angel. Probably pretty weird seeing two Jacks… er… you know.”

 _“‘Weird’ doesn’t even begin to describe it,”_ she told him with a hint of _something_ that suggested she was mortified, leaving him to puzzle over the exact nature of her relationship with Jack.


	8. ... And Making Room for New Ones

“Oh, good. You’re not busy in here,” Timothy teased, pushing his way into Rhys’s bedroom. “Half-expected Jack to be layin’ in bed with ya, smokin’ a cig.”

“Shut up,” Rhys grumbled. “That’s sick.”

“Heh, sorry. That was a joke. And he doesn’t smoke anymore, anyway.” Timothy sat at the foot of the bed, next to where he was curled up under his blanket. “So… yeah, a few things. I did have a talk with Jack recently about the way he treats ya, but he insists that you can ‘handle it.’ Also thinks it’s good for you to ‘grow a spine.’ His words—not mine.”

“Got it. Well, thanks for trying.” He offered a half-smile.

“Yeah, of course.”

Rhys debated about thanking the other body double for telling him about Handsome Jack’s exercise habits, which had inadvertently saved his ass, but he had already pushed things between the two of them far enough already. He knew Timothy would not be pleased to know that he had helped to betray Jack. Consequently, he kept his mouth shut on the matter and simply offered, “Thanks for telling me to ask Jack about his track. I think you were right about scoring points for initiative. He wants me to go tomorrow morning and start working on my endurance.”

“That’s great.” Timothy smiled lopsidedly at him. “Glad to help. Seriously, anything I can do to make this transition easier for ya, I’m all over that. …Ya know, if it doesn’t involve gettin’ us into deep shit.”

“Heh, right. Um, so you were going to talk to me about why the apartment is so empty, right?”

Timothy nodded. “I’m not sure if Jack would appreciate me tellin’ ya this stuff, but you’ll find out eventually. So… you probably could’ve guessed this, but we aren’t the only body doubles he’s ever had.”

“I had a feeling from just how much he freaking loves himself.”

“To put it lightly.” He snickered. Then he went silent and wrung his hands in his lap. “But in all seriousness, ya know why he started creatin’ body doubles?”

“To be killed instead of him?”

Timothy made a contemplative noise in the back of his throat. “Kinda, but there’s more to it. See, we’re not as expendable as ya might think. Creatin’ a body double is expensive as fuck, even for a man like Handsome Jack, who is literally drownin’ in cash. Not only that, but the time and trainin’ that goes into makin’ sure the body doubles can defend themselves is a huge, in-depth process. Restartin’ it over and over again is not somethin’ he likes doin’, and he gets way too invested in each one, kinda like a pet.”

“So the other body doubles…” he trailed off, unable to voice his suspicion and make it true.

“…Died,” Timothy finished with a grim nod that sent shivers down Rhys’s spine. “All sent down to Pandora on jobs. I think one lasted a month, but that’s the record. I mean, it’s not like they didn’t have the skills to stay alive down on Pandora. Jack spent so much time on each one, teachin’ ‘em how to shoot, givin’ ‘em the best shields and guns, and just makin’ sure they knew what to do. But the thing about Jack—he has a **ton** of enemies, probably enough to fill an entire planet. Some of ‘em are also powerful enemies. Don’t let him use that condescendin’ baby-talk of his on ya when he tries to dismiss ‘em as worthless bandits. They _are_ bandits, yeah, but they’re organized and incredibly dangerous. They’re smarter than he gives ‘em credit for.”

“Vault hunters.” Rhys nodded. “I get that. But he’s always going down to Pandora, right? He couldn’t have trained his body doubles _that_ well if he does it all the time and comes back alive.”

“Sure, but what Jack fails to tell ya is that when he’s down there, he’s always safely behind a shit-ton of reinforced steel, auto-targeting systems, biometric locks, the works… Somewhere none of his enemies know about,” Timothy explained. “I dunno what he does down there, but I know for a fact that his body doubles are sent out on assignments. So when word gets ‘round that someone spotted Handsome Jack, it doesn’t take long ‘til… ya know.”

“Then maybe he should hire people who don’t look exactly like him,” Rhys suggested impatiently, as if it were the simplest concept to grasp. All the while, fear faintly made itself known in his chest as a passing image appeared briefly in his mind, one of him alone down on Pandora while wearing Jack’s skin like a bright red target.

“He has trust issues. It’s, like, a psychological thing.” Seeing the disbelief creeping into Rhys’s expression, Timothy urged earnestly, “Listen, I know I said I don’t care to really understand him, but I know this for sure: He needs us. _Everyone_ has betrayed him, Rhys, _everyone_ —except for himself. And maybe… maybe that’s why he’s so overbearing. He doesn’t want to give ya the chance to break that illusion. And I can’t imagine watchin’ himself die again and again makes him feel great, constantly bein’ reminded of his mortality and age. And I know it probably doesn’t mean much, but it’s one of his biggest fears.”

Rhys snorted derisively, prompting Timothy to shrug helplessly and bid him a good night, but inwardly, he didn’t completely dismiss the words as nothing. He spent the rest of the evening pondering what he learned with his knees tucked against his chest and chin resting atop them, staring into the darkness of space from his window.

Powerful, wealthy men like Handsome Jack didn’t have fears or doubts, and they certainly weren’t miserable. They owned fear and used it as a tool to ruin lives for their own gain—Rhys’s own life was a testament to that. And if Jack experienced betrayal again and again, it was his own fault for pushing people to that point.

So why was someone like Timothy, as decent as he was, unshakably loyal to such a monster of a man? It baffled him; what did he see that Rhys didn’t?

 

* * *

 

 _“Jack talks about you constantly, you know_ ,” Angel commented out of the blue the next morning after Rhys had pulled himself out of bed for a quick shower. _“He sees your potential—and I agree with him.”_

Rhys paused in his task of brushing his teeth and spat the toothpaste into the sink so he could speak uninhibited. He was skeptical but didn’t want to argue with her. “Oh, thanks, Angel. But, uh, what else does he say about me?”

_“Well, he says you’re stubborn. That’s paraphrased, of course. He uses other words that I’m not allowed to say.”_

“Um, what?” He blinked in surprise, certain he had misheard her.

 _“Curse words,”_ she elaborated indifferently. _“I’m not allowed to say them. Although, sometimes I do, but only when he can’t hear me.”_

Rhys couldn’t help but imagine a young woman being scolded by her father due to Angel’s rather rebellious phrasing and immediately shook it out of his mind. He didn’t want to begin to entertain thoughts of Handsome Jack being the father to any innocent child. He wasn’t particularly superstitious—but just in case. “Huh. So… what’s your relationship with Jack, exactly? Who are you to him?”

She didn’t say anything right away, but when she did, her words were strangely skittish. _“I… well… I could say it’s complex, but it’s… it’s, ah, really not. I just…”_

“Daddy’s home!” came an obnoxious call from within the apartment, cutting her rambling off.

Angel disappeared from his ECHO-comm without another word, the screen going dark, and he was left alone with the newly arrived Hyperion CEO, who had appeared so swiftly as if sensing he was being talked about.

“‘Daddy’?” Rhys muttered to himself, shoving his toothbrush back into his mouth. “Freakin’ gross.”

“Don’t give me that,” Jack quipped, poking his head in the bathroom. “You love it.”

Rhys immediately spat the foamy toothpaste out in order to correct him, but he was interrupted with, “And if ya _don’t_ love it, I’ll force you to love it,” along with a cruel smile that reminded him just how fruitless arguing was when it was against Handsome Jack. He sighed and finally abandoned his toothbrush, cupping his hands under the faucet and gargling the water from his palms to rinse his mouth. All the while, Jack stood there and simply watched him, much to his discomfort.

Then the Hyperion CEO stepped into his space, hands folded behind his back and out of sight, and sniffed him, which was when he noticed the older man was dressed differently than normal and clearly ready for a morning jog at the track. He was a little disappointed—he had hoped that when Jack said, _“Maybe if you’re lucky,”_ that he wasn’t serious about escorting him to the track.

He shrugged it off, nonetheless. It was just for an hour or less. How horrible could it be?

“Ya really should’ve waited to shower until after our run, pumpkin,” Jack advised, flashing a grin. “You’re gonna get _real_ sweaty.”

“I don’t mind taking another one.” He edged away and eyed the older man warily at the lewd tinge to his tone. He was only in his boxers, so he was naturally anxious about any possible advances that would be made on him. He quickly decided that they should divert from the topic of showering—and being nude and sweaty—to something more business-like, which he had come to realize Jack usually responded well to. “So you said you’d have something for me to wear when we go jogging?”

Jack’s eyes lit up, and that was a clear first indication that it was going to be a rough morning. He nodded eagerly and brought one of his hands out from behind his back, presenting a dark scrap of fabric strewn across his palm.

Rhys eyed it and puzzled over what exactly he was supposed to do with it—a headband, perhaps? A few silent moments passed, and he slowly raised his gaze to meet the heterochromatic one, which was scrunched up with humor in the form of little wrinkles at the corners.

“What am I supposed to do with _that?_ ” Rhys demanded incredulously.

“Wear it?” Jack scoffed, shaking the clothing at him and insulting his intelligence in the same moment. “They’re shorts.”

“…Will that even _fit?_ ” His eyebrows were high on his forehead with his disbelief. He wasn’t giving his consent, of course. He was just weirdly curious if Jack thought he still had the body of a spry teenager.

“It’ll be tight,” the older man purred, “but we can **make** **it** fit.”

“No.” Rhys crossed his arms over his chest defiantly, choosing not to acknowledge the innuendo thickly weaving through Jack’s words. In response, the pair of shorts were rudely dropped on his head, musing his already styled locks in the process.

“ _Yes_.”

“Ugh—come _on_.” The younger man snatched the offending garment off and ran his hand through his hair to coax it back into place. “Can’t I have a pair like yours?”

“These or nothin’ at all. Want your dick packed away or floppin’ around? ‘Cause I’m good either way.”

Seeing no possible alternative—and due to the terse frown that had slowly molded Jack’s expression into something nearing anger—Rhys sighed, long and suffering in its quality, as if he were dealing with a particularly trying child. Lips pursed into a straight line and reluctantly accepting his fate, Rhys moved on to his next dilemma and inquired tightly, “…And a shirt?”

All he had available in his closet were sweaters, button-down shirts, and jackets, none of which were suitable for sweating in, leaving him at the older man’s mercy. It wasn’t even his body, but he had never been comfortable showing off so much skin if he could help it. Didn’t they say modesty was an attractive trait? Not that it mattered—somehow, the vainer and crueler Handsome Jack was, the more attractive and god-like people seemed to find him. It was a truly baffling notion.

“I didn’t bring one.” Jack’s frowning lips instantly quirked back up into a coy smile as if telling a witty inside joke.

“What the—are you kidding me right now?!” he hissed.

“All right, all right. Shit, calm down.” Jack suddenly moved, and a yellow blur was tossed in Rhys’s face before dropping down into his waiting hands. “Tight-ass in the mornin’, ain’t’cha?”

“ _Thank_ you,” he responded once he realized that he had been given a simple Hyperion-brand T-shirt, which he slung over his shoulder for the time being. His tone was forced to be cordial, although he did stress the first syllable more than was necessary in his simmering frustration at Jack’s antics. He took the ends of the questionable shorts in both hands and stretched the cloth out in front of himself contemplatively. That was when a terrible thought struck him that he didn’t have any appropriate underwear for such a stupidly tight fit. “Um.”

And the knowing grin on Jack’s face didn’t help him feel better about his situation.

“Just go commando like I do, kiddo,” Jack informed him flippantly. “Save yourself the trouble.”

He arched an eyebrow at that, idly wondering how Jack dealt with chafing while wearing such insanely tight jeans all the time.

“…You seriously thinkin’ about my junk slingin’ around while I run? _Really?_ ”

Nothing even slightly to that degree had crossed his mind, but he knew it was a waste of time to try to defend himself. The younger man instead groaned and tilted his head back to face the heavens, inwardly begging for a reprieve that wouldn’t come.

“You just pictured it! You totally did!” Jack enthused, mashing his index finger into Rhys’s cheek obnoxiously. “God, you’re _weird_.”

The exasperated body double turned his back on his companion and shoved his boxers down his legs, accompanied by the sound of Jack’s suggestive, low whistle. He kicked them off and wiggled his way into the shorts in record time, absolutely ready to move on before he could be tortured any longer, and it was a small miracle that they fit over his admittedly muscular thighs and backside. Had Jack tried them on with the intention of wearing them or… _Nope_. He didn’t want to think about it.

He yanked on the T-shirt and grumpily stalked past the sniggering Hyperion CEO. The unfamiliar feeling of the shorts against his naked groin, as well as the new breeze, had him glancing down at himself self-consciously more than once on the way out.

To his misfortune, Timothy was in the shared living space, strewn out across one of the couches and watching television. The other body double swiveled his head around at their approach, and his eyes bugged out comically at the sight of Rhys, who unsuccessfully had tried to hide behind Handsome Jack—who side-stepped just in time. “ _Hot_ ,” he commented, the impending laughter audible in his tone.

“He forced me to,” Rhys defended. It was an excuse that he unfortunately had begun to associate with every interaction with Jack.

“Hey, no eye-fuckin’ Rhysie, Tim-Tams. That threesome is off the table now.” Following a waggle of his eyebrows, Jack glanced pointedly at the travel bag by Timothy’s feet. “But, uh, you’re still here?”

“Loud and clear.” He playfully rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna get goin’ soon. Elpis can survive a few more minutes without me.”

“Lemme know when ya get back,” Jack told him. It was dispassionately delivered, an order from a man who enjoyed controlling everything and everyone around him, but the words themselves suggested that he cared about the well-being of his body double, which had Rhys glancing at him curiously.

“Yeah, yeah.” Timothy turned his gaze to the third look-alike in the room and waved. “I’ll be seein’ ya, Rhys. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Rhys replied as he obediently followed Jack into the elevator. He smiled weakly at Timothy from between the doors before they snapped shut and blocked his view of the other man. He tried not to focus on that tight knot in his chest that accompanied his realization that when he returned, Timothy would be gone, and he would be alone once again.

They darted downwards past the Hub of Heroism and farther still. After a few short moments, they slowed to a stop, and the doors slid open once again, admitting them to a spacious room with windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, similar to the ones in Jack’s office, allowing them to look out upon Elpis’s lava-cracked exterior. The room, even with how large it was, clearly had only a single use, indicated by the lines on the ground that stretched onwards before curving around and eventually meeting with the starting point once again.

While glancing about the surroundings curiously, Rhys couldn’t help but to wonder exactly where they were in the enormous space station that was Helios. Being CEO, Jack probably had many rooms that no one but he was allowed access to. Shaking himself from his thoughts, he put some distance between them so he could begin to stretch out his muscles.

He hadn’t run since college—and admittedly, he hadn’t done a lot of things since then—choosing junk food and gaming over physical activity in order to unwind after a long day at a desk. As he had told Timothy, he had been gifted with a wonderful metabolism, which kept him skinny no matter how much unhealthy food he shoveled into his mouth on a daily basis. Consequently, he hadn’t felt the pressing need to keep himself active, though he and Vaughn had occasionally discussed its benefits in an attempt to pump each other up for a jog—with close to zero results, especially when one of their most anticipated gaming titles was released that week.

Oh, yeah, this was going to hurt, and he was going to be sore for days afterward. He was already dreading the pain, vaguely recalling it from his required physical education class in college. He wasn’t looking forward to embarrassing himself in front of Jack and giving him yet another reason to mock him.

With that in mind, he leaned down to grasp at his ankles, holding the position for as long as he could manage. There was already a discouraging tightness along his calves and thighs, and a burn spread across them the longer he strained them. He gritted his teeth and endured it, but he nearly lost his balance and concentration, letting out a sharp exhale, when Jack abruptly bent over him, completely flush back-to-front with him.

“Quit it!” Rhys snapped when a hand slipped down his front and toyed suggestively with the hem of his shorts, which had ridden ridiculously high up on his thigh. He straightened up and pulled away from the Hyperion CEO, who was smiling deviously at him.

“Stretch up nicely, kitten,” Jack advised. “I don’t want’cha pullin’ nothin’ later when I tear ya open across my desk.”

“We’re not gonna—gonna do **that** ,” Rhys insisted grumpily. A tingle of worry nudged at him because what he had waved off as one of Jack’s many jokes was steadily being pushed too far, that Jack intended to have sex with him. “And how can I stretch if you’re all over me?”

He spread his hands out in an exaggerated shrug, clearly unsympathetic. “Already did my stretches while you were fuckin’ around and gettin’ ready. And _that’s_ called bein’ prepared. Take notes, babe.”

With a roll of his eyes, Rhys was forced to hurry through the rest of his stretches, enduring little pinches to his backside all the while, and by the end of it, he didn’t feel any more confident that he was loose and ready to break his long streak of zero physical activity.

With a motion of his hand, Jack led him to the start of the track and nodded his head toward it. “We’ll start out with a few laps and see what happens, ‘kay? Don’t stop until I do.”

Rhys took in a gulp of air and nodded to indicate that he was ready, and they started to jog side-by-side. It didn’t start out terribly, the pace comfortable enough even for him, and he began to relax into it. By the time they completed the first lap, he dared to feel pretty good about himself, that years of neglect did little to weaken his body.

But the comfortable silence that had settled upon them couldn’t last, of course, with Handsome Jack there.

“Shit, I look hot in those shorts,” Jack interjected as they started their second lap, glancing over at his body double. “See, this is what I needed: somethin’ pretty to stare at while I get this shit outta the way every week.”

“What, Elpis isn’t good enough for you?” Rhys retorted. As much as he hated the short-shorts with every fiber of his being, they did hug him securely and made running commando smoother than expected. But he still would have preferred a pair of boxers and shorts with a reasonable length to them. He liked to think most people would.

“Ehh, I look at that miserable wasteland more than it deserves every friggin’ day. But this…” Jack smirked lazily at him. “I could look at this all day. Hey, hey, got a great idea. Why don’t’cha jog ahead of me a little bit so I can really admire the view?”

The body double slowed his pace the tiniest bit in defiance, falling a step behind.

“All right, if you’re gonna be a little shit about it.” Jack grunted and then quickened his own pace. “Fall behind, and we’re gonna have a real problem.”

Rhys groaned loudly and matched his boss, and the exertion of doing so brought to his attention his encroaching fatigue. He swung his arms at his sides, pumping his legs, and a short distance later at that speed, as they were nearing their fourth lap, Jack abruptly broke into a run, darting forward and leaving him behind. “Oh, _c’mon!_ ” he cried out.

“Not gettin’ tired, are ya?” Jack taunted over his shoulder. “Hustle, Rhys! Bandits gonna get’cha at this rate!”

“There—are—no—bandits!” he called back, greedily gulping in air between each word, but nonetheless, he pushed himself a little bit further and managed to reach his running partner, falling into step beside him. As much as he tried to fill his lungs, it didn’t seem to be doing anything for him, and his body was desperate to stop and collapse.

Thankfully, when they completed the fifth lap, which apparently equaled ‘a few,’ Jack stopped running, and Rhys took that as his cue to fall over and die—so to speak. He panted, placing his hands on his knees. His heart was pounding, and sweat was pouring from him, soaking his yellow T-shirt. His shorts were clinging uncomfortably to his thighs and backside, and he resisted the urge to dig them out from between his cheeks, especially in front of his perverted running partner.

Jack appeared at his side, jogging in place and only panting lightly from the distance they had covered. He leered at his exhausted body double, dragging his eyes across his body with an exaggerated slowness, which had Rhys stifling an exasperated sigh—he was too fatigued to deal with it and wanted nothing more than to gulp down some much-needed water and find a cool place to lay down. He also dreaded the following couple days, knowing he would really be feeling the pain from this abrupt workout.

“Welp, I guess that’s all you can handle for today, huh?” Jack made a disappointed noise in the back of his throat.

Rhys bristled at the judgment, but he knew that attempting to force himself any farther along the track would be like dragging his feet through drying cement. His body was heavy, slouching, and his lungs were burning in his chest like a brand. He was more than ready to jump in the shower and wash away all the sweat. “Yeah,” he huffed, pushing his suffering body upright with difficulty. “I’m done for now.”

Jack gave him a long look, as if deciding if he had been tortured enough for one morning, but before he could say anything, _“Jack, it’s almost time,”_ emitted from the ECHO-comm stored in his pocket.

Rhys identified the voice as belonging to Angel and silently thanked her for interrupting when she did.

“Let’s go shower up, then,” Jack ordered, already heading toward the elevator, with the younger man reluctantly following a moment later to the sound of impatient foot-tapping.

By that wording, Rhys grew anxious that Jack would want them to shower together, but when the elevator stopped on his floor—and the Hyperion CEO didn’t exit with him—he was able to breathe a sigh of relief.

“Come up to the office when you’re done,” the older man told him before disappearing, leaving him to trudge wearily to his room, shed his clothing and mask, and shower thoroughly to rid himself of the generous sheen of sweat that had dried all over his body.

He debated tossing the horrible pair of shorts in the trash, but something held him back as he was dangling them above the wastebasket—the thought of Jack forcing him to run naked in retaliation. With a shudder, he wisely decided to instead discard them and the soaked shirt in his clothes hamper to be washed.

Dressed up pristinely like Handsome Jack in the many layers of clothing, Rhys was soon nearing Jack’s office, cringing and hesitating a fair bit outside of the sliding doors at the memory of the last time he had been there. Thankfully, this time, he didn’t get a blood shower, and he briefly acknowledged the missing corpse and rug from the office as he walked up to Jack’s desk, where the older man was tapping away at his computer, some snacks within arm’s reach.

“There ya are. C’mon, kiddo, get up here.”

Rhys stepped around the desk just as Jack stood, the chair between them.

“Sit.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Rhys edged away from the mysterious chair of terrible decisions, but his progress was abruptly halted by a hand shooting out and gripping his forearm, dragging him back toward it. “Oh—okay, okay. I guess I’ll just… take a seat, then…”

He was forced into a sitting position, and he let out a soft breath, focusing on the double monitors set before him on the desk. He recognized the architecture of the building depicted in the surveillance footage on the right monitor as the same one from when he had watched the slag mutation, only it was following a group of four terrifying, heavily armed people destroying their way through an army of loader bots and Hyperion workers. The left monitor showed a tiny holding cell, where the mutated bird itself was crammed into, thrashing around restlessly. Nearby on Jack’s desk was also an abandoned ECHO-comm.

“Vault hunters arrived, and they’re makin’ their way through. Oh, this is gonna be sweet.” Jack perched himself on the armrest and rubbed his palms together gleefully. “I had the bird moved to the perfect spot. I can already see the shock on their faces when I release this baby on ‘em. Oh-ho, _man_.”

Rhys squinted at the right-hand screen, watching the vault hunters mercilessly tear their way through, and he unfortunately got a very good view of someone’s head exploding in a spray of gore. He pre-emptively pressed his hand to his mouth at the surge of nausea in his stomach. “Do you have… ugh, a bucket anywhere?”

“What? No—”

The ECHO-comm crackled to life suddenly, startling Rhys out of his skin, when an unknown man’s voice yelled, _“That’s how ya do it!”_

Jack rolled his eyes. “Ya see, always gotta encourage the vault hunters like they’re babies. ‘Oh, you’re doin’ so good,’ and, ‘Go get ‘em, vault hunters!’ Friggin’ animals, I swear.”

“Who’s that?” Rhys inquired curiously, gesturing at the ECHO-comm.

Jack’s fingers danced over it before snatching it up. “Oh, just some drunken bandit. I got this tuned into the bandits’ frequency right now so I can listen into their conversations. It’s actually pretty funny, uh, countin’ how many times I hear myself bein’ talked about.”

Just as he said that, the same male voice came through and identified the place they were looking at as the Wildlife Exploitation Preserve, following it with Jack’s name, which brought an amused smile to Rhys’s lips at the perfect timing.

The older man leaned into his body double’s space and whispered, “It’s a lot,” before pulling away with a snicker.

They watched the vault hunters’ swift progress, and Rhys grew more and more uneasy at the accurate shots and multitude of dangerous weapons in their arsenal. He couldn’t imagine facing off with one of them and being able to live longer than a few seconds, especially looking the way he did.

“Oh, hey, you’re in the Preserve!” Jack suddenly spoke aloud, piercing Rhys’s fretful thoughts.

The younger man was confused for a second until he realized that Jack had pressed the button on the ECHO-comm and was speaking to the vault hunters.

“I was gonna do this whole thing where I’d lure you in here and kill ya, but you just… well, you just kinda showed up! Thanks for savin’ me the trouble, kiddos!”

They didn’t react to the taunt, leading Rhys to believe that Jack did this sort of thing often. He settled back in the chair, took a deep breath, and watched the show—not that he had a choice in the matter. Though, he was actually curious to see what would happen, and he was preening a little bit due to the fact that he had a special seat in the CEO’s office and was privy to Jack’s plan.

He felt… important. It was strange and invigorating.

“Look, they’re in the cells.” Jack nudged him, switching the view on the monitor to the new area. “They’re goin’ to the bird’s cell, thinkin’ she's in there. Heh, dumbasses. Do they really think I’d just leave her there? Nah, it's gotta be way more dramatic than that so we can have a good laugh over it.”

 _‘We,’_ Rhys acknowledged, glancing at Jack from the corner of his eye. He didn’t know if he’d be laughing at the resulting carnage, but he found the new treatment refreshing and wondered how long it would last. Regardless, he began to relax, and he found himself responding wryly, “Sooo… you’re gonna release those monsters on them, aren’t you?”

“It’s like ya read my mind!” He chortled. Laughter subsiding, he spoke into the ECHO-comm once again, “Lookin’ for Bloodwing? Oh, I moved her a few hours ago. Somewhere a little more… _dramatic_.”

“I didn’t know you knew its name—er, her name,” Rhys commented, raising his voice to be heard over the resulting chatter from vault hunters. He watched Jack lean forward and pluck a bag of snacks from the desk, tearing it open.

“Well, they _say it_ enough.” Jack snorted before shoveling chips into his mouth. He offered it to his companion, who gratefully accepted his own handful. He chewed noisily before swallowing and continuing, “Slip of the tongue. Ya got me, okay?”

The body double nodded and licked the salt from his own fingers, moving out of the way as Jack reached for the keyboard in front of him and typed something in. He peered over Jack’s shoulder just in time to see the vault hunters move past the holding cells containing hulking, imbued monsters—skags, if he recalled correctly. He shuddered slightly at the sight of their impressive fangs and snapping, hungry mouths—their deadly claws, their respective elements splashed across their hides in the form of roaring flames, skittering arcs of electricity, and sizzling acid paste.

Rhys didn’t envy the vault hunters and suddenly felt very comfortable up on Helios.

Jack leaned back, satisfied with his commands, which had been placed on a slight delay, and shoved more chips into his mouth. Without taking the time to swallow, he lazily addressed his enemies with, “Hey, ya know what I just remembered?” Another crunch of his snack built the suspense before he continued, “It’s feeding time.”

The cages slid open at that, releasing the horrifying, experimental beasts, and Rhys was so sure that they would be a challenge for— _oh_ , they were dead. He wrapped his arms around himself and chuckled nervously under his breath.

“Relax, kitten,” Jack soothed, bumping his arm against his shoulder, which did little to comfort him.

Timothy hadn’t been kidding when he said Jack had very dangerous enemies, and seeing it all in front of him so clearly, he grew very aware of how ill-prepared he was for an encounter with them. As a rampaging team of experienced warriors who worked as one unit, they had almost no trouble with everything in their path and grew nearer and nearer to their objective as a result. He didn’t even know how to hold a gun, and his hand-to-hand combat skills were nonexistent. In his stressed state, he barely listened to Jack continuing his taunts, letting the vault hunters know very blatantly that he was watching their every steps through his facility.

“Ready?” Jack muttered, bringing his attention back to the screen just as the camera feed flickered to a new view. “You don’t wanna miss this.”

He could see the restraints on Bloodwing snapping open in preparation for her release, and he practically felt the older man’s excitement building next to him.

“Want Bloodwing back, huh? Shame—I’ve been doin’ some really interesting Eridium experiments with her. Hate to see her go, but heck with it.” Jack squeezed the ECHO-comm and smirked, eyes narrowed with sadistic glee, as the platform underneath the mutated bird began to rise, the hatch above her opening and releasing her into the sunlight above for the vault hunters to see. “She’s all yours.”

 _“Oh, my god…”_ the male voice from earlier trailed off, horrified, and Rhys silently agreed with him.

He didn’t feel an ounce of the pleasure that Jack did when their enemies were forced to turn their weapons against the bird—formerly one of them, now a bloodthirsty berserker who swooped down on them, raining slag across her path.

“Just give it up, kiddos! Bloodwing’s got _all_ the elements at her disposal—fire, electricity, corrosion, slag, and… ah, damn, I forgot the last one. What the hell was that, again?”

Rhys arched an eyebrow at his boss’s unexpected fumbling. “Er, explosive, right?”

“Ah—shh, shh, _shhh_.” Jack smashed a finger against his body double’s lips, even though he had already released the button on the communication device. “I know that. But **they** don’t. It’s gonna make an… heh, _explosive_ finish. Get it?”

“Oh.” Rhys smiled weakly. “Yeah, I get it. Good one.”

“Man, they’re playin’ right into it! This is great! They’re gonna weaken the bird, he’s gonna tranq her, and she’s gonna drop to the ground. They’re gonna think they won, right? Get near her… then— _pfffbt!_ Her friggin’ head is gonna fly off and… and… ehh, they’ll probably survive the blast.” Jack frowned sourly. “Goddamn shields.”

As the vault hunters continue to battle the mutated monster of a bird, Jack swapped her element imbuement at his leisure throughout, slowly making his way to his grand finale. He was clearly impatient for it, but he was forcing himself to take his time. “Electricity. Slag, fire, electricity… Corrosion’s comin’ up next. What am I forgetting?”

“Explosive,” Rhys mouthed helpfully at him.

The Hyperion CEO rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort.

 _“Goddamn it, Jack!”_ came a furious snarl, cutting him off before he could respond. _“You better pray Bloodwing makes it outta this! You’re gonna regret ever dragging Bloodwing into this, Jack! You’re gonna watch her tear your throat out!”_

“Heh, heh, that’s cute.” Then he paused, switching the imbuement. “Corrosion… Yeah, I remember that one. C’mon, what is left?”

_“I'm loadin' the tranq dart! Tranquila, Blood! This won't hurt, I promise!”_

With that, Rhys watched the giant bird suddenly stiffen in midair before she lost the ability to move, plummeting like a stone. She landed roughly in an undignified heap on the ground before the vault hunters, who lowered their weapons and slowly began to approach. He licked his dry lips nervously and stole a few more chips from Jack, wanting to get them down before he completely lost his appetite.

He knew what was coming—Jack made it explicitly clear again and again—but he couldn’t look away. He heard the desperation and fury in the unknown man’s voice, most likely the owner of the bird, but he did his best to distance himself from it, reminding himself again and again that these people would have zero mercy for him if they ever met face-to-face.

He had his own problems to deal with, and he couldn’t take on others.

Jack was a squirming, excited mess next to him—at least one of them was enjoying it. If he managed to forget this ever happened, it would be all too soon. But he didn’t mind staying in the chair a while longer. It was incredibly comfortable, and no matter how stressed he became, it continued to ease away until he felt light and unburdened.

_“Okay, she's still alive! Get the microchip from her collar, and we can get her back to Sanctuary!”_

“Oh, now I remember!” Jack drawled into the ECHO-comm.

Rhys wanted to turn his head away from the impending massacre, but his neck refused to budge. He saw the blue-haired, female vault hunter lean down and reach for the collar around Bloodwing’s neck, and Jack leaned across him to type on his well-worn keyboard.

He wanted to warn them but knew it would be detrimental to his health. So he sat there and stared, though he inwardly urged the woman to get some distance before something horrible happened—even though Jack insisted they would probably survive it with the shields they undoubtedly possessed.

And as if sensing danger, the female vault hunter quickly backed away, and the rest of her companions followed her lead.

“ _Explosiiiive!_ ” Jack sang, slamming down on his keyboard.

The bird was forced through the sluggishness of the tranquilizer running potently through her veins, climbing to her clawed feet, and suddenly—her head disintegrated into a wet explosion of meaty chunks and blood, sending messy crimson splatters over the ground, the walls, and any crates strewn about the observation deck. Her headless body slumped to the ground, blood oozing from the gaping hole in her neck.

 _“Noooo!”_ promptly came the tortured cry of a man who just lost his best friend.

Rhys sat in stunned silence while Jack cackled like an absolute madman next to him, slapping his knee and nearly toppling over to the floor from the intensity of his amusement. It was almost surreal, the insane laughter from his boss and the furious chattering of the vault hunters struggling to regroup in his ears, the mutilation all over the screen, the weight of his guilt that he didn’t do anything to stop it. He wasn’t sure which turbulent emotion to cling to, as they were mixed together and assaulting him all at once.

He didn’t want to deal with this. He couldn’t stomach murder. But thankfully, he didn’t have to. The chair slowly did its work and comforted his mind, sending it into sweet oblivion, where he didn’t need to worry about anything.

“Hey…” Jack trailed off once he had regained control of himself, wiping a tear from his eye and smiling broadly at the carefree look on Rhys’s face, “you wouldn’t happen to play the violin, would ya?”

No, but he could try.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, Jack was still rambling on enthusiastically about how his plan had come to perfect, sweet fruition and that Rhys should never, ever try to play the violin professionally unless he wanted to use the noise as a weapon.

The body double hadn’t intended to, so he just bobbed his head in agreement, finding the man’s continued energy rather infectious. Or he _would_ have, if he hadn’t been turned into a human puddle, draped over the chair like he was. He managed to dodge a few more none-too-subtle hints that they should fuck like filthy animals on the desk, remaining blissfully unaware of the older man’s growing frustration.

It was only when Jack eased onto his knees in the space between Rhys’s thighs like it was no big deal and placed his large hands on top of them, snaking one of them toward his groin, that he snapped out of his haze and parted his lips in shock. The sight of the most powerful man in the universe kneeling before him was a rude awakening, for sure. “What, uh… what are you doing?”

“Oh, ya know, lookin’ for loose change for the vending machine,” he retorted while undoing the belt in his way. “Come on, Rhysie, what _else_ would I be doin’? I’m gonna suck you off since ya won’t let me fuck you. Now, I don’t wanna hear anything out of ya unless you’re moanin’ prettily for me.”

“N-n-n…” Rhys stammered, but the word was lodged firmly in his throat. His mind was swimming, and he was struggling to grasp onto anything tangible in his mind, to muster the strength to force Jack away. However, nothing came to him as the button and zipper of his jeans were quickly dealt with, as the rough fabric was tugged down his hips. His body seemed to know what was coming; an unconscious niggle of desire wormed its way through his senses. “Nnh…”

“That’s it,” Jack encouraged, a coy smile on his lips as his eyes locked with his body double’s half-lidded, unfocused ones. He stroked Rhys through the front of his boxers, his fingers easing him slowly into a state of arousal as the flesh stiffened under his ministrations. He broke eye contact long enough to tug the boxers downwards, exposing his partially hardened cock. “I think we’re both gonna enjoy this.”

The older man licked his lips, as if in anticipation for a delicious treat, and he leaned forward and ran the tip of his tongue along the curve of Rhys’s cock. When he reached the head, he curled it around teasingly, tasting him.

Rhys knew he was bitter, but Jack didn’t seem to mind and eagerly went for more, opening his mouth as wide as he could manage and sliding it over his stiff length snugly, easing his way halfway down the shaft. Hands kept his hips firmly held down so he couldn’t gag his boss.

The wriggling wet muscle moved around him, teasing at his flesh and sliding up and down, and the mouth wrapped around him sucked attentively, adjusting the intensity based on the sounds that escaped his throat. He should have been embarrassed by a few of them, but all he could focus on was how _fucking wonderful and hot_ Jack’s mouth was. Did he care that another man was sucking him off? Not at that moment because he was going to come _so hard_. He could feel it building, and he craved the white-hot bliss that came with it.

But all too soon, Jack was pulling back, and Rhys reached for him reflexively. His hand threaded through the older man’s hair, and he tried to pull him forward. Needless to say, his attempts were resisted, and his hand was shoved away.

“So… want me to stop?” Jack mocked huskily and glanced up at him, pumping him expertly with a tight fist in the meanwhile. The saliva coating Rhys’s cock slickened the process, his hand gliding nicely over him. He shifted his position slightly, appearing a little uncomfortable with how his knees were digging into the unyielding ground, but he didn’t stop pleasuring the younger man.

Of course, there was that small part of Rhys that urged him to speak up for himself and remind Jack that he wasn’t interested in men, but it was quickly lost in the fog that swirled around him. He felt as though he were floating, disconnected from his flesh and hopelessly encompassed by lust and pure _need_. He couldn’t stop now; he just needed to finish—in Jack’s mouth, all over his face, in his hand, _anywhere_. It didn’t matter. His lips moved, and he vaguely heard Jack—or, rather, **himself** —slur, “Don’t stop…”

“All right.” Jack’s eyes lowered, his eyelids falling and blocking his own dilated pupils, and a smirk quirked his mouth. He flicked his tongue over his parted lips, wetting them enticingly, before ducking down.

Rhys’s hands shot out and desperately grabbed at the armrests of the chair to steady himself at the way Jack gulped him down anew as if he were starving, the older man’s lips stretched tightly around his generous girth. His head fell back against the chair, and he arched his hips with a strangled noise. He felt hair tickling his thighs as Jack buried his face in his crotch, sucking him down enthusiastically to the hilt.

“Ahh _—fuck,_ ” Rhys moaned, squeezing the armrests with a white-knuckled grip. His legs fell open wider, and he eased forward the slightest bit, desiring more of the delicious sensations surrounding the source of his arousal. The dexterous tongue curled around him, working him determinedly, and he enjoyed the light, wet suction that accompanied it. His toes curled, and his breath hitched when the older man drew upwards, releasing him with a noisy pop of his lips.

Jack relinquished his hold on Rhys’s thighs momentarily, and the dazed body double vaguely heard the jingle of a belt and the distinctive sound of a zipper being drawn downwards. Realization shot through the thick mist of his mind and struck home that the Hyperion CEO was stroking himself while giving him a blow job, and he tried not to dwell on it too much. He instead lost himself in his euphoria when Jack darted back down and continued his eager slurping as if he had never stopped—and never wanted to stop.

Groans of encouragement escaped Rhys’s lips, and he moved his hips in time with Jack’s bobbing. His cock throbbed almost painfully as he was shoved closer and closer to his orgasm, his body tensing and muscles jerking slightly. The pleasure licked seductively at his senses with steadily growing intensity, and his thoughts became an erratic, jumbled mess— _please, more—yes, just like that—oh, god, more._

Maybe some of his thoughts had been voiced aloud because Jack suddenly chuckled, muffled, around him, but the laughter was quickly silenced when Rhys came hard without warning, the sensations breaking over him and helplessly drowning him. His hips arched into the air, unbidden, gagging Handsome Jack, and he emptied his cum down the man’s throat— _again_ and _again_.

He didn’t dare to grab the man’s head and keep him there, but he didn’t have to—Jack swallowed everything he had to offer.

When Jack was sure he had wrung all he could out of Rhys, he pulled back, flicking his tongue over the hypersensitive tip.

Rhys recoiled slightly in response.

“Don’t forget that technique. Someday, when I’m sure you’re not gonna bite my dick off, you’re gonna be doin’ it for me,” Jack cooed breathily. At his companion’s lazy shrug, he laid his face on Rhys’s thigh and let out soft grunts of exertion as he worked himself toward his own completion. “You— _ugh_ … owe me. Remember that, Rhysie.”

The body double hazily stared across the cavernous office, unable to think much of anything as he rode the lingering high of his orgasm, the sounds of his boss getting off faraway and unimportant.

For now, he was content, and that was all that mattered.

 

* * *

 

Still slightly out of it and not sure how he had found his way to his apartment, Rhys later found himself just going through the motions of feeding himself dinner and taking a soak in the bathtub—the third time he had bathed that day—to rid himself of the dried saliva and lingering traces of his shameful orgasm. He laid in the tub for nearly an hour, climbing out only once his mind had cleared and the water had become unpleasantly cold around him. He dressed himself in boxers and threw himself on his bed face-first, the silence of the apartment buzzing unpleasantly in his ears. It was amazing how empty his space felt without the presence of another person to fill it, and he realized how much he missed Timothy despite only having just met him.

After having remembered that his ECHO-comm would allow him to contact Timothy, he stressed for several long minutes about if he should send the other body double a message or not. He didn’t want to seem needy, since Timothy had just left that morning, but he wanted someone to talk to. It was too early to sleep, and even if he hadn’t just come in Jack’s mouth, he loathed to seek the man out for small talk in the first place.

Not that he ever wanted to think about that again.

So when his buried ECHO-comm let out a faint jingle of an impending call, he dug it out from under his messy blanket and was cheered up by what the screen displayed for him. He accepted the call and tried not to sound too eager as he greeted, “Hey there, Angel.”

 _“Hey, Rhys,”_ she responded. _“I know I normally just connect the call, but I wasn’t sure if you were sleeping or not. I didn’t want to wake you.”_

“Nah, I’ve been up. It’s all good.” He rolled over onto his back and set the device on the bed next to him, stretching his arms out behind his neck and closing his eyes. “So what’s up?”

_“I’m just calling to tell you that I’ve finished with the blueprints, but I won’t upload them to your ECHO-comm until necessary, just to be safe.”_

“Good thinking. That would be very bad for both of us if Jack found something like that. So what exactly are you trying to build, anyway?”

 _“Um…”_ She faltered and went silent for a few moments at his rather innocent question. Then she tentatively continued, _“I’m sorry. I know you’ve proven yourself trustworthy up to now, but I’m still a little… hesitant to explain. Basically, it’s a compact machine designed to convert slag back into Eridium, albeit a more impure form.”_

“Well, if you’re looking for compact, what about… what about some kinda shield?” he suggested, wanting to be helpful to her. “I’m not really sure what you’re wanting to do with the converted slag, but Vladof manufactures absorption shields. Maybe you could use the same kind of concept?”

 _“What do you mean?”_ she questioned, intrigued.

“Like… Okay, slag weapons, right? The bullets explode on impact. You could, like, shoot the modified absorption shield while it’s active and convert the excess slag into Eridium,” he tried to explain.

 _“Oh, I see... Yes, that could work, as well. I will need to acquire the model for it, but it can be done. If Hyperion doesn’t already have some stolen prints lying around, it should be a simple thing to hack into Vladof’s security,”_ she quipped cheerfully. _“I know I’ve shared this sentiment before, but I’m glad we’re a team.”_

He chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Hey, just trying to help. So about transporting these blueprints—couldn’t you have just cut out the middle man? Not, uh, that I don’t want to help you out, of course. But couldn’t you have contacted a Hyperion scientist instead of me?”

 _“This is a personal project of mine. It’s not for Hyperion’s benefit,”_ she informed him. _“I am not allowed to speak to anyone but Jack, so I haven’t had the opportunity to develop a bond with anyone capable of building this.”_

“You kinda remind me of Jack with his trust issues and paranoia,” he spoke without thinking, meaning it as a tease. He was gifted with a half-hearted hum as a response, which left him feeling like he made a mistake. “Er… that came out wrong. I didn’t, like, mean it as a bad thing.”

_“Well… he made me, so I can see where you might think that.”_

“Hey, I don’t mean to pry or anything… but I’ve gotta ask. What does an AI need to convert slag for? …I mean, you _are_ an AI, right?” When she said nothing right away, he quickly continued, “That’s just my guess. Sorry if I, you know, insulted you or anything, but I just thought—”

 _“—No, it’s fine.”_ Despite the dismissive words, her voice was strangely tight with emotion.

“Look, I…” he swallowed, growing distressed at his lack of tact throughout the conversation, “…I upset you, didn’t I?”

 _“Rhys, it’s **fine** ,”_ she repeated with sudden conviction. _“You’re right. I am an AI. But I—I want to be more than that, and I think this will help. Anyway, that scientist, Nakayama, can help us. I can’t approach him as myself because of his fondness for Jack. He would surely seek approval for the project, and any hope of this being a success would disappear completely.”_

“So you want me to pretend to be Jack and, uh, _force_ him to build it for you?” Rhys inquired uneasily.

_“I know it sounds manipulative, but I’m… I’m desperate. Please don’t think poorly of me for it.”_

There was a hint of something in her tone that dug into Rhys’s heart. He had always thought AIs were emotionless computers, but this one seemed very capable of feeling and had him wondering, not for the first time, just who or _what_ she really was. Her desperation was palpable—like a young woman reaching out—and he found himself unable to deny her, if only to soothe her. “I don’t think poorly of you, Angel. I’ll do what I can, all right? I said I would help you, and I meant it. I just need a way to get to R &D.”

 _“Thank you.”_ She let out a quiet noise, like a relieved sigh. _“I will take care of everything.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to **RealityPhobia** for the idea about the Rhys abuse in the form of tight running shorts!
> 
> Also a huge thank-you to **Spycethra** , whom I have been chatting with endlessly about the direction this story will take—amongst many other things—for her idea about Rhys abuse in the possibility of jogging without a shirt with our favorite pervy (not Percy lol) CEO. If you haven’t checked out her stories, you definitely should! Her currently posted AUs ( _Never Change_ and _Misunderstood_ ) are both suspenseful and full of hilarious banter.


	9. Toeing the Line ...

“Oh, my god. _Ohhh, my god_ , it hurts so much,” Rhys whined to himself. He was currently stuck in bed, and it seemed as if every inch of him was in pain. Whenever he attempted to heave himself out of the comfort of his blanket so he could sit up, some part of his body would ignite in a searing ache and send him flopping back down again with a gritting of his teeth and a sharp exhale.

After a few more tries to sit up, he simply gave up and laid there, staring up at the ceiling listlessly. He then decided to stay like that until Jack came by to wake him up, as he usually did. Perhaps the man would take mercy on him, knowing he had really pushed himself yesterday during their run.

No—Rhys couldn’t even convince himself to believe that. Jack was anything but merciful. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t stretch the limits a few moments more while he finished waking up. With this small comfort, he buried himself deeper in the warmth beneath his blanket and let his eyes drift shut once again…

…Only to jerk back awake when his ECHO-comm let out a jingle of an impending voice call. The small amount of drool that had tracked its way down the side of his face, as well as the lingering remnants of a half-forgotten dream, were testaments to the fact that he had fallen asleep for longer than he intended. He groped for his noisy communication device and blearily answered it without glancing at the screen. “Hey, A—”

 _“—You up yet?”_ Jack’s voice demanded sharply—a rude contrast to the soft feminine voice he had been expecting.

Ignoring the screaming protest from his limbs and now wide awake, Rhys shot up in bed and berated himself inwardly for his almost horrible slip of the tongue. “I, um…”

 _“Nah, wait, don’t answer that. I can still hear the laziness in your voice,”_ he interrupted. _“Welp, I know you’re probably achin’ like a sumuvabitch, but you’re gonna have to suck it up. Got it? Good. Now, same as usual, cupcake. Sit pretty in the office and wait for me to return. No visitors.”_

“Yes, sir,” Rhys muttered, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face.

_“Oh, yeah—one more thing. We’re gonna start your weapons training soon. You might look like a badass, but we both know you’re nothin’ more than a soft, pathetic desk jockey. But, see, we’re gonna change that. Get’cha a shield, too. The best.”_

Rhys briefly recalled Timothy’s words, the ones along the lines of how each body double was meticulously trained to be sent down to Pandora—only to die within a month. He was struck with dread, and his voice caught in his throat. He knew that reality was swiftly approaching him, and he was far from ready for it. He couldn’t fathom how to bring up his growing concern, or that he was even allowed to, or if Jack would pretend to care.

 _“Got that, pumpkin?”_ Jack prompted impatiently when there was only silence on his body double’s end.

“Y…” Rhys forced out pathetically. He hurriedly cleared his throat and attempted it again. “Y-yes. Got it.”

There was more silence, and Rhys glanced at the screen, noticing that Jack had not yet disconnected the call. He waited patiently for the other man to end it first, knowing it was a terrible idea to assume anything about Handsome Jack.

And then his patience was rewarded when Jack sighed.

_“Lemme guess. Tim told you ‘bout my ‘bandit bait,’ huh? The other body doubles?”_

“Uh, no…” Rhys cleared his throat exaggeratedly. “Of course not. Why would he tell me something like that? I’m just excited about… uh, you know, being able to learn how to shoot. I just never had time, and—”

_“—Cut the shit, okay? I know he told ya. You’re as transparent as he is, and I don’t even have to look at’cha to know you’re lyin’ to me.”_

“…Yeah, okay. He told me,” Rhys admitted quietly. He exhaled softly before imploring, “Please don’t do anything to Tim. I’m the one who forced him to mention it. It’s not his fault. If you have to punish anyone for it… It’s my fault.”

 _“Jeezus. You’re actin’ like I’m gonna drop everything I’m doin’ and fast-travel to Elpis right **the fuck** now—and disembowel him for thinkin’ he can run his mouth about anything he wants without my permission.”_ Jack broke off, and Rhys’s horror multiplied drastically as a result. Then the older man unexpectedly barked out a laugh, slicing through the tension that had descended upon them. _“Seriously? Man. But, ya know, if you really wanna be punished, all ya had to do was ask. I can always make time for you, babe.”_

“No… thanks.” He deflated. “I’m good.”

 _“Suit yourself,”_ Jack huffed. _“Uh, anyway… Where was I? Oh, right. You don’t have anything to worry ‘bout. I’m gonna teach you everything ya need to know. ‘Bout weapons, ‘bout shields. Backup plans, exit strategies, and how to deal with those goddamn vault hunters.”_

“Jack,” Rhys muttered into the ECHO-comm, “I-I don’t think… I mean, you saw them, right? Those _shots_ , that equipment. There’s at least _four_ of them. I can’t—”

 _“—You can,”_ he interrupted firmly, _“and you will. I won’t tolerate weakness, Rhys, not while you’re usin’ my identity. You’re gonna go down to Pandora and fuck those bandits up, all right? And I’m gonna help ya get there.”_

“ _Why_ do you think I can do this?” Rhys spoke up, frustration coloring his tone. “I’m a salesman. I mean, _was_ a salesman. Did you even know anything about me before you forced the surgery on me? I’m not some combat specialist!”

 _“’Course I knew some stuff ‘bout’cha. Henderson friggin’ sang praises in your name when I was surfin’ the market for fresh meat. He said he saw good things in your future in this company,”_ Jack elaborated wryly. He clicked his tongue. _“Ya know what else he said? ‘Said he saw these… I dunno… qualities in ya— **Handsome Jack-like** qualities. It’s, like, a sign, don’t’cha think? And then ya sealed it and went ahead with the cybernetics of your own free will. It was absolutely perfect.”_

“Wait,” Rhys hissed. “What do you mean? Are you… are you trying to say Henderson is responsible for this?”

 _“Mm, well… in a way, sure. If you’re lookin’ for someone to blame and all.”_ Jack snorted in amusement. _“He’s the one who encouraged you to sign up for surgery in the first place, right? You have my blessing to airlock him. We’ll even make it into a date.”_

“He… might have mentioned it to me. But I wouldn’t say—the decision was mine to make, all right?” he responded heatedly. “I’m not gonna airlock anybody.”

 _“Sure, whatever makes ya feel good about yourself. Anyway, lemme walk ya through my brilliance here. I’ve thought up a number of different ways for weedin’ out candidates for my body double program. Maybe I’d hold a death match one month and end up with a whiny bitch too traumatized by the end that they beg for death ‘cause, ‘Oh, the nightmares of what I’ve done are too painful to bear!’”_ Jack mocked. _“Maybe I’d comb military forces another month and end up with a poor excuse for an assassination attempt.”_

Rhys said nothing, instead waiting for Jack to make his point.

 _“Or maybe…”_ he trailed off to build the suspense, _“I’d skip the pointless bullshit and search right here in my own company. Sure, it takes longer to find someone who wants to chop an arm off for the benefit of Hyperion, but I gotta tell ya, cupcake… I’m not disappointed yet. In fact, I’m feelin’ pretty good about how it’s gone so far. …Orgasmic, even.”_

“Ugh. So let me get this straight. You offered cybernetic surgery to trick me into becoming your body double—‘cause I was going to lose a limb over it anyway? What sense does that even make?”

 _“Let’s think for a second, if you can manage it. How many people are willin’ to give up body parts for this company? C’mon, seriously, I wanna know. How many cyborgs do ya see walkin’ ‘round Helios?”_ Jack waited a few seconds for an answer that wouldn’t come before answering himself, _“None that you can think of right this second. Ya know why? ‘Cause somethin’ like that takes balls. Ambition, loyalty, and a huge pair of balls. And what’d’ya know? I’m a man who appreciates all three.”_

Rhys ignored what sounded suspiciously like a compliment doused in insult and innuendo in favor of broaching, “So… Henderson—”

 _“—Nah, all department heads, kiddo. I told ‘em to keep an eye out for anyone who might fit the bill and point ‘em in the right direction. Henderson just happened to be in the right place at the right time. I mean, sales? I’ll admit I didn’t see that comin’.”_ Jack snickered to himself. _“But I’m rollin’ with it and seein’ where it goes. Anyone can be useful with a gun in their hands.”_

He contemplated that for a few moments. Inspired by the rare serious conversation between him and the Hyperion CEO, he decided to bluntly ask something that had been weighing on his mind since the very beginning. “Jack, what do you even need from me? What is your end goal here?”

 _“What do I need?”_ Jack echoed. _“I need ya to be patient with me. See, I’m tryin’ to get shit ready for ya, but there are these bumps in the road every once in a while. I gotta smooth ‘em all out.”_

“Let me guess—you want me to rule Pandora in your name? Like with Tim and Elpis?”

Jack hummed. _“Hey, why not? We both know I’m a busy man, and there are a hell of a lot more planets out there waitin’ to be conquered. I need someone I can trust watchin’ shit while I’m gone.”_

“You don’t even know me.” Bitterly, Rhys turned his head and glared at the wall. “How can you trust someone you don’t know?”

 _“I know you wanna die with a smile on your face, knowin’ you did somethin’ amazing that people are gonna be talkin’ about_ waaay _after you’re gone. What’s rulin’ a company compared to rulin’ an entire world, Rhys?”_ Jack inquired smoothly. _“Business cards are nice… but how do billboards sound?”_

“…Business cards?” Rhys froze at that.

 _“Yeah, business cards. They’re usually made from paper with someone’s name and company on ‘em. And if you’re creative, you can slit throats with ‘em.”_ Jack’s knowing smirk was audible _. “Those things fascinated you as a kid, right?”_

“But—how…” he stammered, taken aback.

_“Oh, yeah, I know way more than ya give me credit for. Actually, you’re the one who doesn’t know shit about me, but you’re fine makin’ all sorts of assumptions. But that’s all right. I’ll let it slide. Now, there’s only one thing ya need to stick clear in your mind. Do ya wanna know what it is?”_

Rhys nodded, briefly overlooking the fact that Jack couldn’t see him.

 _“Forget everything you **think** ya know about me and focus on this one thing,”_ he ordered without prompt. _“Ready? It’s gonna blow your mind.”_

“Okay, okay. I’m ready. What is it?”

_“I want you to succeed.”_

 

* * *

 

 _“The quarterly budget allotment is coming up,”_ Angel told Rhys a short time later while he was preparing for the day. _“I will redirect a small percentage of the funds—negligible, really—that are going to each department into an account for Professor Nakayama’s use, if he agrees to build the slag-conversion devices. Since I have already calculated the cost of materials and projected labor, I know exactly how much to give to him. I will even include some extra for him to pursue his Destroyer project as a thank-you. Be sure to mention this.”_

“That’s sneaky,” Rhys observed while straightening his collar in the mirror. An exhausted man stared blankly back at him. Without the mask on, he was sure he would find impressive bags under his eyes. “But… won’t the departments wonder why their budgets are lower this quarter? At least one person is gonna notice, and they’re gonna ask Jack. It won’t take long for him to put two and two together.”

_“You’re right. That’s why you’re going to need to speak to each department head and explain the situation in-person. Why would they contact Jack if he already graced them with his presence?”_

“So what, uh, am I supposed to say happened to the rest of the money? You know, if they ask.”

 _“You don’t say anything… because no one will ask,”_ she responded evenly. _“Rhys, you need to remember that you’re **Handsome Jack**. Nobody on Helios will question you. If you walk into a room and decide to execute someone, it’s just another day in Hyperion. The fact that you’re taking the time to visit each department and give them warning about the decrease in budget will soothe over anything, I’m sure.”_

“I guess when you put it that way…” He chuckled humorlessly. “Yeah, you’re right. So what’s your plan to get me out into Helios today?”

_“Unfortunately, it won’t be possible today, but I do have a plan. I need to record you sitting at Jack’s desk for future use. While Jack is gone, you shouldn’t have to waste your time sitting in an office that no one visits. Instead, we could be doing more productive things, like figuring out a way to get you away from Jack’s influence.”_

“Oh, all right. So you’ll loop the footage and make it look like I’m there. And you can track Jack’s movements, obviously, so you can give me warning before he’s heading back to Helios.”

_“Right.”_

“How are you going to upload the recording? Didn’t you say the security cameras in his office are disconnected from Helios’s mainframe?”

 _“That’s correct. I’m going to need your help there. Simply connect your ECHO-comm to Jack’s computer to provide an uplink, and I will work my magic from there. Any time Jack checks into the feed tomorrow, he’ll see you being an obedient worker…”_ Angel trailed off, _“…while you’re actually going to R &D to speak to Nakayama about our project.”_

“You think of everything, don’t you?” At Angel’s affirmative hum, Rhys finally turned away from the mirror, satisfied as much as he could be with his appearance, and he made his way into the living space of his apartment. “So what do you need me to do while I’m sitting at Jack’s desk? Play with the buttons on his chair and stare out into space? Just waste time in general?”

_“Basically, yes, that’s the idea. Just try not to do anything noticeable, though. He might notice patterns in your behavior if he watches for a while. Act natural and look as uninteresting as possible.”_

“That I can do. When should I establish the uplink?”

_“It’ll have to be later tonight when Jack is asleep in his apartment. We don’t want to risk him noticing anything. I’m not entirely sure what kinds of alerts he might receive if you connect your ECHO-comm to his computer, but I think I’m safe to assume that it’s in our best interests to tread carefully. So for now, sit patiently at the desk and wait for him to return. I won’t be able to contact you until you’re out of his office.”_

“All right. Sit at the desk, look boring, wait for Jack to come back,” he repeated. “Ugh, I can’t tell you how relieved I’m gonna be when I don’t have to keep sitting there all day. It’s such a waste of time, you know?”

 _“I know,”_ she agreed. _“If everything goes as planned, it won’t be a problem soon enough. Well, until later, Rhys.”_

“Bye, Angel.” He pocketed the device once Angel disconnected from it and rode the elevator up to Jack’s office. He waved in acknowledgement to the familiar personal assistant, who was busy at one of the computers, on his way through the hallway. He let out a sigh, slumping slightly, when he entered the yawning chasm of an office.

He really didn’t want to be there. It was one thing, sitting at a desk, but it was another thing entirely when he couldn’t do anything productive to pass the time. But hopefully it would be a thing of the past by tomorrow, as Angel planned. Thus, he was simultaneously excited and nervous about her plan—working on a top-secret machine with an unclear purpose for an AI and deliberately disobeying Jack’s orders at the same time.

But he couldn’t help but recall his conversation with Handsome Jack that morning and the surprising revelations that came with it. Did the man seriously expect him to become the dictator of Pandora in his place? The notion was utterly laughable. Rhys struggled with office politics at times; how could he hope to soothe over conflicts on Pandora?

It was clear that Jack had researched him, much more than he had initially let on, if he knew what his dreams for the future were at a mere ten years old. Additionally, the body double surgery hadn’t been a random occurrence, and Rhys wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Being tricked into it because it was convenient was something he could fit neatly into the box of things he was completely sure bothered him. But to be hand-selected and even secretly nudged toward accepting the new job because his bosses saw something in him above the rest? To be praised for his ambition and loyalty to Hyperion—several traits that Rhys prided himself on since he was a child dreaming of leading a big corporation—by the CEO? It was a mind-blowing realization, and he hadn’t had time to fully absorb what it meant.

Dropping into the comfortable yellow chair waiting for him, he folded his hands on the desk’s surface while his eyes roamed the familiar contents of the room—the pleasantly gurgling water fountains, the sleek and modern gray steel plates, the posters of Handsome Jack smirking down at him from every angle. Then he spun around and took in Elpis’s splendor, as he had many times before. He imagined Timothy somewhere on Elpis, giving orders and being regarded as the most powerful person on the surface of the moon. He tried to picture himself in a similar position on Pandora, but it didn’t come to him as smoothly.

 _It’s a false promise,_ he cautiously told himself. _Jack is just trying to gain my trust._

But he loathed to admit that his interest had been piqued. Jack was a smart businessman and knew all the right things to say, and Rhys was very nearly on the verge of agreeing to settle into his role and seeing where things led from there.

Very nearly—but not quite.

As much as he enjoyed the rare praise and recognition, he couldn’t let go of his contempt for the numerous things he had been through against his will. Timothy could try to sway him with his talk of ‘sensitive sides to Jack.’ Jack could attempt to lure him into a false sense of security with his honeyed words. But Rhys still had his pride, and being shoved into isolation from his friends and family and catering to Jack’s narcissistic desires were not things he could brush off. Being forced to abandon his entire identity was downright unforgivable.

Once Rhys was comfortably settled back into his own skin, and he had time to recover from this nightmarish experience, then he and Jack could talk about a possible promotion. If he survived that long, anyway, Jack’s optimism be damned.

Rhys was a realist in this situation. He would not come back from Pandora the same way he went in.

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, Rhys settled into his apartment, rubbing at his eyes drowsily. The hours spent in Jack’s office that day had dragged by slowly, more so with every glance at the time, and he had exhausted every repetitious game he had available to him. By the time Jack had finally strolled in, also appearing rather fatigued, he had been eager to stretch his legs and treat himself to a change of scenery. Even the fountains, as gentle and soothing as they were intended to be, grated on his nerves by the time he had been dismissed.

Of course, dodging a persistent invitation to give the older man a stress-relieving blowjob before bed hadn’t helped his mentality, but he had safely escaped with his jaw still intact.

It amazed Rhys—Jack could be dead-tired and still somehow find the energy to pursue him sexually, and it could have been somewhat admirable under extremely different circumstances.

As ready as he was to undress and fall into the comfort of his bed, he knew he still had work to do before the day could end for him. While he waited for Angel to contact him and give him the go-ahead, he fed himself dinner and plopped down on one of the couches. A remote control was sitting next to him, abandoned there and completely untouched since Timothy had returned to Elpis, and with a shrug, he snatched it up and turned one of the televisions on with it.

Sometime later, after having found a somewhat interesting show to stare at, he was perking up to the welcome sound of Angel’s voice. “Hey, Angel. How’d it go?”

 _“Sorry for the delay,”_ she responded sheepishly. _“I was adjusting the video I took so it’s perfect. I’m ready to upload it to Jack’s computer.”_

“That’s great. Should I head up there now?”

 _“No, not yet. Last I checked, he was...”_ she paused and delicately cleared her throat, _“…still awake in his apartment. We should wait a little while longer to make sure there’s no chance that he’ll walk in on you before we’re able to complete the upload. That would be… indescribably bad.”_

“Really? He’s still awake?” Rhys shook his head in disbelief. “He looked tired when I saw him. Thought for sure he’d be out by now. How long does he normally stay up?”

 _“I don’t know,”_ she admitted. _“I try not to check much.”_

“Why not?”

 _“Oh… reasons,”_ Angel dodged determinedly.

And that’s when it clicked.

Rhys rubbed the back of his neck. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with an AI, and the palpable embarrassment in Angel’s tone only made it more awkward for him. “Oh, well… He’s probably, you know, done by now. If that’s what he was doing. I mean, I guess. I wouldn’t know. But maybe?”

 _“…I’m afraid to check,”_ she muttered. _“Maybe we should wait another hour?”_

“Um, sure, I guess… if you want to.” He stifled a yawn. He truthfully didn’t enjoy the thought of staying up for at least another hour, as tired as he was, and decided to express this. “…But, uh, you sure you can’t check? I mean—”

 _“—I’m not going to check, Rhys,”_ she retorted firmly.

“Then let me check. Can you show me the feed?” Then he muttered distastefully under his breath, “I’ve seen it all anyway.”

 _“Oh, god, please don’t say that,”_ she pleaded, mortified. _“And it’s not like I can just close my eyes and show it to you, you know.”_

“Why does it disgust you so much?” he questioned curiously. In the back of his mind, he wondered exactly why he was discussing with a computer the appeal—or lack thereof—of Handsome Jack masturbating but was unable to stop it. The depth of her emotion intrigued him. “I mean, yeah, he’s an asshole, but a lot of people find him attractive. But even if you don’t, you said you’re an AI. It shouldn’t affect you, right?”

 _“Um, well…”_ She seemingly grasped for words for a few moments but was unable to voice them. So she swiftly changed the topic. _“Okay, fine. I’ll check. But I’m going to be very upset if something… **untoward** … is occurring. To say the least. Ugh.”_

“‘Untoward.’” Rhys smiled despite himself. “Cute.”

With that, Angel left him to his television show for a short moment, and he discreetly crossed his fingers, hoping Jack was asleep and not currently engaged in an hour-long jerk-off session. He doubted it… but he would end up feeling extremely guilty if he had forced Angel to witness that since she was so adamantly against it. He wanted to know why anything remotely sexual about Jack bothered her so much. The only explanation he could come up with was that she had developed a familial attachment for him during her creation, possibly viewing him as a father figure.

…Poor her.

 _“He’s not asleep,”_ Angel finally revealed. _“He’s busy with paperwork at the moment. I still think we should wait until he’s done and in bed. That would be the safest option.”_

“I don’t know how long I’ll last.” Rhys shook his head. “I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep, and you won’t be able to wake me up if that happens.”

 _“…I guess he’s done in the office for now_ ,” she acquiesced, _“but we’re going to need to be fast, okay? The sooner you get out of there, the better.”_

“Will it really be the end of Helios if he catches me in his office?” Rhys inquired, turning the television off and heaving himself to his feet. He made his way toward the elevator and stepped inside, tugging his ID card out at the same time. “Maybe I just wanted to look at Elpis before bed? So sue me—his office has a much better view.”

 _“This is serious, Rhys,”_ Angel informed him reproachfully. _“So please don’t get distracted.”_

“All right, I won’t get distracted,” he promised, sliding his card and tapping the buttons of the keypad. “I’m actually completely serious right now.”

 _“We’ll see,”_ she quipped. _“And needless to say, we’re going to need to be creative about how we go about hacking his computer. The cameras are still active, so once I have access, I will need to modify the footage to disguise our plan. I don’t want to risk him checking it. Also—I will communicate with you through text in case audio is recorded.”_

“Good plan.” He arrived on the correct floor and stepped out into the empty, silent hallway, noticing the lights had been dimmed. He had never visited the office after Jack had retired to his apartment, and the echo of his footsteps seemed louder than usual during his trek to his destination. It made him flinch, as if Jack could hear him and would pounce from the shadows at any moment. Despite the bravado he had put on for Angel, he was actually slightly fearful of being caught. Any reaction he could imagine Jack having toward his presence after hours was unfavorable, and he was risking a lot for this mysterious, disembodied voice.

He could only hope he was making the right decision and that his soft spot for a woman in need wasn’t leading him straight to a new degree of hell in the end.

With a soft inhale, he stepped into Jack’s darkened office once the doors admitted him, and each step was filled with trepidation. As many hours as he had spent in this very same space already, he strangely felt like he was trespassing.

Elpis wasn’t any less majestic, providing the only source of light, and he appreciated the sight of it as he neared Jack’s desk. He skimmed his fingers over the surface of the desk, nearing the chair, but he stopped short at the sight of it, wary.

A thought struck him—would Angel know anything about it?

He nearly opened his mouth to ask, but just before he voiced his question, he remembered the cameras and snapped his lips shut. He shook his head at himself admonishingly. Between almost speaking Angel’s name to Jack that morning and then again in the form of recorded footage that Jack had access to, he was becoming careless. It was a wonder he hadn’t messed everything up already.

Perhaps he was just tired. He certainly felt it, he acknowledged, while yawning into his fist. His question would have to wait until later—if he remembered to ask, that is.

For now, he had a job to do. Shaking off the unease that prickled at the back of his mind, he settled in the chair, in which he had spent most of the day. He brought out his ECHO-comm under the desk and waited for Angel’s instructions, which didn’t take long to arrive. Following her voiceless command, his fingers felt along the armrest of the chair, searching through the buttons for the correct one. He feared he may have pressed a few in his blind search, as sensitive as they were, but nothing seemed to happen, much to his relief.

He found the one she had described, a little triangle-shaped one near the middle of the console, and a press of it had a panel under the desk sliding away with a quiet whirr and revealing a computer tower. Shining the glowing screen at it, he spotted the port he was looking for on the front of it. With a quick flick of a latch, he was tugging a cord out from the bottom of his ECHO-comm and plugging it in.

Rhys glanced at the screen, which had gone blank except for a line of text informing him that the devices had been successfully connected. A notification at the corner of the screen caught his attention when it popped up.

 _'This is going to take a little bit. Just sit patiently while I work around some firewalls and disable some alarms,’_ the notification told him.

Rhys settled contentedly back against the cushions and closed his eyes, allowing Angel to take over. He was so tired… and comfortable. Even though the air in the office was slightly chilly, he found it pleasant, as warmly dressed as he was in Jack’s preferred full attire. He felt himself nodding off several times and was forced to crack his eyes open to prevent himself from falling asleep.

But he knew it was futile.

He didn’t sleep well at night, and he would have been in bed by now, closing his eyes in preparation for a fitful rest. He couldn’t speak to warn Angel before he was slumping back and finally succumbing to his body’s fight for sweet unconsciousness. Consequently, he was asleep within moments.

 _“Rhys!”_ Angel’s voice burst from his ECHO-comm suddenly, forgoing their agreed-upon stealth. Her desperate cry startled him rudely out of his slumber. _“Shit—Jack is coming! Hurry, unplug the cord and retract the panel!”_

“All right, all right,” he slurred sleepily. His mind was slower than usual to catch up with his body. With fumbling movements, he did as she commanded and yanked the cord from computer tower port. He jabbed a finger at the triangle-shaped button, and the panel slid neatly into place, betraying nothing of their sabotage. The ECHO-comm cord was retracted, and the device itself was returned to its home within Rhys’s pocket—and just in time.

The office doors opened with a low hiss, heralding the arrival of Handsome Jack, who didn’t seem entirely happy to see him. He strolled up toward his body double, as primly dressed as Rhys was, seemingly having never gone to sleep for the evening. Or he had simply dressed up again when he realized his body double was in his office without permission. “Somethin’ wrong with your bed?”

“No,” Rhys responded, stifling a huge yawn. The sight of his intimidating boss should have worried him, but he wasn’t concerned, not at that moment. “I wanted to look at Elpis before bed… and I drifted off.”

“Elpis is the other way,” Jack pointed out, stopping in front of the desk and flicking his gaze over its surface, as if scouring for an incriminating clue for Rhys’s presence.

“The light was shining in my eyes, so I turned the chair,” he countered lightly. He propped his head up on his fist, his eyes sliding shut. He felt as if he were swimming, with each motion more meaningful. His surroundings were hazy and dreamlike in quality as his equilibrium wobbled. He just wanted to lose himself in the carefree sensation.

“You look so relaxed,” the Hyperion CEO observed. He had moved to the other side of the desk, leaning his weight against it and sweeping his interested gaze over the lax form of his companion. “How do ya feel?”

“ _Amazing_.” The word slipped out honestly and without an ounce of regret. He sighed, his mind a perfectly muddled mess. “Really, just… amazing. I never feel as good as I do in this chair...”

“ _Really_.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well… why don’t’cha touch yourself?” he suggested in a low tone, gladly taking the opportunity as it presented itself.

At that, Rhys lifted his eyelids partly to look at him. He found himself considering the request simply because of the raw persuasion dripping from Jack’s tone. “’M lazy.”

“C’mon,” the older man urged, undeterred. He placed a hand along the edge of his desk, drawing Rhys’s eyes toward the small motion. “It’ll feel _so good_. Don’t’cha want that?”

“Hm…yeah, I do,” Rhys agreed slowly—he did want that, **a lot**. Shifting himself into a comfortable position took more effort than usual because his limbs felt heavy and clumsy, but he eventually splayed his thighs enough to provide reasonable access. He cautiously reached down and stroked himself through his jeans, teasing just enough to test the waters of his desire to continue. The tingle of arousal was pleasing, and he hummed audibly.

“Get those clothes outta the way.”

Jack’s voice was hypnotic, a low and welcome sound in the quiet dim of the office. He mindlessly obeyed the order, tugging his belt apart so he could unbutton and unzip himself. With his jeans parted over his groin, he leisurely ran his fingers over his flaccid length through the soft fabric of his boxers, taking his time in easing himself into partial hardness, tugging his jeans farther down his thighs and legs as he did—enough so he could part his knees. Sliding his palm across the head of his cock, he reached between his legs and cupped his balls.

His unoccupied hand resumed the sensual movements along the hardening ridge in his boxers while his other one began gently massaging, rolling the clothed flesh between his fingers. He continued at his own pace, silently enjoying the muted yet delicious sensations, until Jack reached forward and tugged impatiently at his boxers, prompting him to stop what he was doing and peel his underwear over his tented erection for the older man’s viewing pleasure.

He shivered at the slight chill in the air on his exposed groin and took himself in hand, wrapping his fingers snugly around the skin and pumping it slowly.

“Mind if I join ya?” The Hyperion CEO’s voice was husky, a testament to his arousal.

He couldn’t muster the ability to care, so Rhys shrugged a shoulder at him. “’S your office.”

“You’re damn right it is.” Jack smirked slightly in approval and reached down between his own spread thighs to quickly rid himself of the obstacles that were his belt, button, and zipper, all deftly dealt with in seconds. Then he opened the drawer next to his leg and pulled out a cylinder full of clear fluid. He popped it open and wordlessly handed it to Rhys.

The body double accepted it and squinted down at it, identifying it as the lubricant he had avoided from the drawer of sin. He squeezed a generous amount of its contents into his other hand before spreading it over his cock, coating it from top to bottom after a few long strokes. It felt heavenly as his hand glided across the stiff skin with ease, as the pleasured groan he couldn’t stifle indicated.

“Look at me, kitten.” Jack was staring attentively down at him, heterochromatic eyes half-lidded with his desire. Some of his styled hair fell out of place in front of his forehead. The glow of Elpis through the enormous windows softly illuminated him, casting shadows over the sharply defined angles of his face.

Rhys took in his features for a few long moments before dropping his eyes down in time to watch Jack push his jeans down his thighs, his uninhibited cock springing up into his waiting hand.

“Got off earlier,” Jack admitted, licking his lips and slicking up his own cock after he had taken the bottle back from Rhys’s slack fingers. “Had work to do, but all I could think about was how I wanted to… _mmm_ … bury my cock between your lips. Or in your ass. Just **anywhere**.”

Rhys slid his fist along the flesh of his length, dragging it upwards in one long, delicious stroke, then back down in another. The warm lubricant slid between his closed fingers, and the steady stroking made little wet noises, which aroused him further.

“Kept thinkin’ ‘bout how I sucked you off,” the older man continued, low and needy. His wrist jerked up and down determinedly over his cock, encouraging the filthy words pouring from his lips. “How you fuckin’ loved it. Came _so hard_ in my mouth.”

The body double flicked his half-lidded gaze up to meet his boss’s in faint acknowledgement.

“ _Goddamn_ ,” Jack huffed, sliding a thumb over the head of his own cock, “I’ve needed this. You’ve been such a tease.”

“I don’t like men,” Rhys finally mumbled deliriously while his eyes shifted and took in the sight of the other man clenching the edge of the desk with a white-knuckled grip while eagerly fucking his fist with flexes of his bicep. He couldn’t help but notice the little twitches of Jack’s thigh muscles, how his eyes fell shut—how his head tilted back—how the Adam’s apple of his throat bobbed when he swallowed. His cock throbbed almost painfully in his grip.

“Yup. You told me,” Jack responded through gritted teeth. “Gettin’ close?”

“Mm-hmm.” The body double groaned and jerked upwards involuntarily, the movements becoming sporadic as hot pleasure pooled in his abdomen. “ _Nngh_ —so close...”

“Wait. I-I’ve got a better idea,” the older man suddenly gasped out, his hand stilling. “C’mere, Rhysie.”

With difficulty, Rhys heaved himself out of the chair that had been transforming him into a human puddle and stumbled forward, knees weak, until his thighs bumped against the edge of the desk between Jack’s legs. He was face-to-face with the softly panting Hyperion CEO. His hand was shoved away from his flushed cock, and he was tugged forward until his slick flesh brushed along Jack’s.

And his mind went hopelessly blank.

Jack immediately took them both in one fist, his fingers unable to touch his thumb around the combined girth, and he jerked them off together with a hasty pace, his only intention to push them over the edge as quickly as possible—to regain the momentum on the orgasms they had been working toward.

Rhys’s hands fell upon the other man’s shoulder for support, and he glanced down to see the tips of their lengths disappear beneath Jack’s fingers and reappear, weeping little beads of pre-cum.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Jack husked, his head bowed and eyes devouring the sight.

The younger man thrusted his hips in time with Jack, digging his fingers into the jacket he was gripping desperately. His lips accidentally brushed Jack’s chin when he lifted his own, and he quickly found his mouth pressed firmly to his companion’s, unsure of who had initiated the kiss—and unsure of why it even mattered at this point. He tasted Jack’s lips, accepting his tongue into his mouth and reciprocating with his own.

The fingers wrapped around him worked him into a throbbing mess, and the cock pressed against his twitched in approval. The smooth glide of lubricant and the catching of a calloused palm contrasted nicely over his sensitive skin. The chilly air did little against the hot friction between their lengths, and sweat rolled down his body underneath his sweater, tickling its way across his abdomen and lower back. Little grunts and exhales escaped the both of them as they jerked their hips together.

Rhys murmured incomprehensible encouragement into Jack’s mouth, pressing kisses against lips which returned the gesture with equal gusto. Their tongues tangled together while Jack’s fist became uncoordinated and jerky around them as he neared his climax.

The Hyperion CEO was the first to break, his mouth falling open in a silent moan, eyes squeezed shut and head tilted back in his rapture. His hand slowed as his cock pulsated with each wave of pleasure that hit him, cum squirting from his tip. He wavered unsteadily on the desk, swimming in his white-hot bliss.

Rhys was forced to wrap a hand around them both to finish himself off hastily for the last few seconds, as Jack was too far gone in his own sensations to remember that his body double was still working toward his own euphoric precipice. With a muffled moan, Rhys quickly followed Jack’s example and came, falling forward onto his companion for support, while his warm essence emptied all over their hands. He let go of their sensitive cocks.

The older man cradled him with one arm, his other hand still easing the last of their semen out in a messy drizzle, which slid down their shafts—painting Jack’s fingers a pearly white—and pooled together lewdly.

“ _Shit_.” Jack sighed, his head lolling on the shoulder that wasn’t taken up by Rhys, who had yet to move from where he buried his face in the crook of the other man’s neck. “Felt so good…”

The minutes ticked by, and Rhys remained exactly where he was, unwilling to pull away and face Jack after rubbing against his dick like a horny animal. Instead, he resigned himself to his fate with a hollow ache in his chest.

It was like waking from the same bad dream, night after night, and he was powerless to do anything against it.

 

* * *

 

There were a lot of things that Rhys had done up to this point in his life that were questionable in nature—more so recently than before when he still had free will over his hairstyle, among other things—and such things had kept him up in the night more than once. He was no stranger to corporate manipulation. He had used an impressive handful of people on his way to the sales position he held before the surgery, after all, and had intended to continue with any means possible to ascend the ladder to success. But that was just the name of the game in Hyperion. It was nothing personal.

Additionally, he was no longer a stranger to sexual manipulation. He frequently let the man who had ruined his life engage with him sexually—and at the pace they were going, he feared that he would lose his anal virginity to him before the month was up.

But before this point, he couldn’t recall a single situation even remotely close to the mess that he currently found himself in early the next morning.

He stared wide-eyed down at Professor Nakayama, who was poised on his tip-toes before him. He watched, stunned, as the skinny man puckered his lips expectantly. The words spoken a mere minute before _—“I’ll build your machine… and anything else you need… if you kiss me.”—_ echoed ominously for more than a few reasons, first and foremost being that there was no way he was going to willingly kiss another man, especially one who held an extreme attraction for the body he was swathed in.

Rhys tore his eyes away from Nakayama momentarily, glancing back down at his ECHO-comm, where a text message was still open and damning him. He could practically hear Angel’s pitiful, pleading tone in the words, manipulating his emotions.

 _‘I know you don’t like it, but please do this for me. My plans end without you,’_ it read, loud and clear.

With Jack away on his usual Pandoran business and his tracks covered in the form of looped footage, the body double had ventured out to R&D at Angel’s direction with the blueprints for her slag-conversion machine and shield uploaded to his ECHO-comm. His target had been the man currently inching toward him with eyes shut and eyebrows drawn up in concern the longer the silence stretched between them.

By this point, Rhys was fairly confident of more than a few things when it came to Nakayama, and it set off warning bells that he would be so direct in asking for a kiss from the perfect visage of Handsome Jack. Furthermore, why would he dare to ignore an order and think that he could get away with trying to control the situation by adding terms of his own? **No one** spoke to the Hyperion CEO like that. Either he was drunk or…

No. There was only one clear, horrifying conclusion in Rhys’s mind.

_He knows._

Rhys found himself at the mercy of this scientist, and he hated it. He wanted nothing more than to abort the mission and flee to Jack’s office before he was caught. Surely Jack would believe his word over Nakayama’s? Either way, there were more important things to attend to at the moment, most pressing being the fact that they were standing out in an open hallway, and there was a faint chatter approaching them. He had mere moments before more people were witness to his presence in Research and Development, and he had two choices laid out before him.

Rhys only had to think of Angel to find the motivation to choose the one he knew she wanted from him. Seizing the other man by the shoulder and steering him into the privacy of his nearby office, he questioned tersely, “How did you figure it out?”

Nakayama, startled by the abrupt change in scenery and the fact that the pair of lips he yearned for were not yet on his, took a moment to collect his bearings. He squinted up at Rhys over the frame of his glasses for a few moments before responding, “It took a while. You see, a few things started standing out to me—how you would seek me out, address me, thank me… It wasn’t until you called me ‘Naka _yama_ ’ today that it really made sense.”

Rhys remembered that. He had called out the scientist’s name without thinking anything of it when he had recognized the back of his head. It had been a natural thing, knowing his name and thus using it. Only someone like Jack would claim deviating from that as a defining trait.

“The real Jack…” the skinny man trailed off, forcing a smile. “The real Jack would never do those things.”

“Right. You got me. I’m a body double.” He had dropped Jack’s distinctive drawl, seeing no point in continuing the masquerade now. It was almost a relief being able to act like himself in front of another person—‘almost’ being the key word there. There were no guarantees that Nakayama would keep his secret, especially if the information gave him a reason to speak to the real Handsome Jack. As a mere copy, Rhys would be sold out in an instant, he was sure, unless he could find a way to keep Nakayama’s mouth shut, though preferably not with his own lips. “But you already knew that, and you still agreed to the project.”

“Yes,” he consented without hesitation, “as long as you agree to my terms.”

“Yeah, about that… Look, isn’t there anything else I can do for you?” he struggled to reason while suppressing an impressive cringe that threatened to overtake his features. “I mean, does it have to be a… a **kiss**?”

“Would you rather… undress for me?” he suggested so quietly that Rhys had to strain to hear him. He furiously wrung his hands together in front of his body. His eyes dropped to the floor, and his cheeks pinked. “I think you’re smart enough to realize what, um, what a _precarious_ situation this is. S-so, uh, your choice.”

Rhys stared at him in stupefied disbelief. Was he seriously being blackmailed? He could hardly believe it—he didn’t think Nakayama had the gall to do such a thing. His innards clenched with anxiety.

“I-I was going to keep things innocent,” Nakayama continued. “And I don’t want to influence your decision… but—”

“—Ugh… I’ll do it,” he interrupted before clarifying quickly, “The kiss. I’ll, uh, kiss you. _If_ you build these for me, that is. By yourself. You can’t ask anyone else for help.”

Nakayama barely had time to react before Rhys opened up the blueprints on his ECHO-comm and shoved the device into his fidgety hands. Bringing the screen closer to his face and adjusting his glasses, he studied the complex designs in contemplative silence. His tongue poked out slightly at the corner of his mouth.

“You’ll have all the money you need to build them,” Rhys assured him, “and even better, there will be some left over for you to work on your… Destroyer thing as an incentive. You know. To stay quiet.”

 _‘As a thank-you,’_ his ass. He sure as hell didn’t appreciate being manipulated, and he knew Angel would come to understand that. His slight deviation from the plan was negligible.

The scientist’s eyes lit up further at his words, if possible. He was practically dancing on the soles of his feet at this point, no doubt marveling at his remarkably good fortune that morning. “Ah—thank you! Thank you so much!”

“Yup.” Rhys sourly crossed his arms over his chest. “So you know you can do it?”

“It will take some time, but yes. I can do it.” Nakayama nodded eagerly. He rushed over to his computer with the borrowed communication device and connected them, immediately beginning the upload of the blueprints with a few clicks of his mouse.

“And you’re not gonna tell anyone about this, right?” Was he being paranoid? Yes, he was—and for a good reason.

It was _always_ the harmless-looking ones.

“Not a soul,” he glanced up at Rhys shyly over his computer monitor and stressed meaningfully, “ _Handsome Jack_ , sir.”

The body double suppressed a groan, already dreading any future interactions between them. He watched as Nakayama unplugged the ECHO-comm and stepped around his desk, approaching him with suddenly timid steps. Rhys accepted the device when it was offered to him, tucking it out of sight into his pocket.

“My… payment?” the scientist whispered breathlessly. At Rhys’s single nod, he folded his hands behind his back and mimicked his pose from earlier, raising himself on his tip-toes and closing his eyes. He waited patiently for Rhys to close the distance, trembling slightly in his excitement. His breath quickened, and his eyelashes fluttered just barely as he struggled to keep his eyes shut.

With heavy reluctance, Rhys held his breath for a few tense moments. Releasing it with a soft sigh, he leaned in and brushed his lips lightly against Nakayama’s—hardly something that could be called a kiss—before he was jerking back to put distance between them. “There. You got your kiss. Now will you _please_ get started on these? I need them finished soon.”

Seemingly satisfied by the brief contact, Nakayama licked his lips and nodded dreamily. He swooned the slightest bit on his feet. “Oh, yes... Yes, of course. I’ll take inventory and begin digi-structing the parts right away, **sir**.”

“And don’t tell _anyone_ ,” Rhys reminded him again tersely, unwilling to tack a threat onto the end, but he liked to think the implication— _“Or else.”_ —hung obviously between them. Then he spun on his heel and stalked away, irritated.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Angel offered quietly from his pocket.

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to **Spycethra** for all of her encouragement, as well as the idea about Nakayama suggesting that Rhys undress for him.
> 
> If my little tidbits of Professor Nakayama have intrigued you in all the wrong ways, I have posted an extremely smutty 'Porn Without Plot' threesome story between him, Handsome Jack, and Timothy. You can find it [by clicking here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7950988).


	10. ... Before Leaping Over

After encouraging Nakayama to start working on Angel’s blueprints and on his way back through the Hub of Heroism, Rhys had grudgingly been ready to return to Jack’s office and sit his way through the rest of the day like the obedient body double he was expected to be. By this point, more than a few hours had passed since he trusted that Angel would cover his absence—with good reason, seeing as he since had enjoyed zero contact from his boss—and it was still early in the afternoon.

And that brought up the startling revelation that he didn’t _actually_ have to go back to the office and stare blankly into space until Jack returned, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. With a swivel of his head, ignoring the ever-present attention from the Hyperion workers skittishly avoiding him, his eyes wandered his surroundings thoughtfully.

There were stores, restaurants, bars, arcades, and a multitude of other forms of entertainment available to him throughout the colossal space station. Such things were almost foreign to him now, though he had frequented Helios’s social scene after work and on weekends. The thought of having free reign to wander—within reason, of course, since he was still a widely identifiable person in Helios—lifted his spirits.

Thus, with Angel’s clever deception in place and instinctively knowing she would keep careful track of Jack’s movements while the older man was away from Helios, Rhys didn’t find himself stepping into that familiar contraption that brought feelings of hopelessness with its daily ascent. Instead, he was making his way toward one of his favorite cinemas, knowing it would be pleasantly dark in the theater, allowing him the chance to relax without scrutinizing eyes waiting to catch the little mistakes that were not mistakes at all—but simply Rhys being Rhys.

During the movie, which had been free of charge, in a theater that had been hurriedly vacated especially for him, he was able to lounge, throwing his legs over the back of the seat in front of him. He was able to laugh, and it felt so **unnaturally** natural. The smile on his lips was not forced or forced to be cruel at someone else’s expense. His brow was not furrowed in stress or anger but, rather, crinkled with his good humor. The movie wasn’t even intended to be a comedy, but he laughed his way through it anyway, just enjoying himself.

When the film began to reach its conclusion, and Angel sent him a text message informing him that Jack was wrapping up his business on Pandora, his chuckles subsided and finally quieted…

…And he curled his legs against his chest and squeezed his eyes shut as tears suddenly sprang up at the corners of his eyes. They slid down his masked cheeks as a testament to his silent pain.

His tears were few and wiped away quickly, and his sobs were carefully contained as his shoulders trembled with the effort. He didn’t know why he had started crying, exactly. It was an absolute rarity for him. In fact, he hadn’t shed a tear since he was a kid. And even though Rhys was already dead—or, rather, gone and quickly being forgotten—and he, a crude mockery of Handsome Jack, was soon to follow, he hadn’t spent his evenings crying at his terrible misfortune.

It felt good… and it didn’t. He felt lighter somehow, but his chest also tightened in remembrance of the number of times he had sat in this same cinema and enjoyed movies over the last year with his friends. It weighed heavy and bittersweet on his mind as he allowed himself to finish the remainder of the movie—much to Angel’s textual disapproval—before masking himself with Jack’s confidence and swagger to hide any evidence of his turbulent emotions. The walk back to Jack’s office was difficult, as if he were working against a moving sidewalk that wanted to take him back to his old life.

But the strings pulling him back toward Jack were more adamant.

 

* * *

 

“Fuckin’—ugh, what the hell was that?! Seriously, were ya tryin’ to hit the damn target or, I dunno, _Elpis_ that time? ‘Cause I really can’t tell,” Jack growled, throwing his hands up in dramatic exasperation behind Rhys, who was slowly lowering the Hyperion pistol he had just fired. “I don’t know how much simpler I can make this. That’s _the_ most accurate thing we have to offer.”

The paper target set up far ahead of him was littered with more than a few bullet holes, mostly around the edges with a lucky few near the center. The number of times it had actually been hit was a mere fraction of the number of shots he had fired already over the last hour—a clear indication of his inexperience in firing a weapon, even one manufactured specifically for unrivaled accuracy.

“Ya know what? Screw the pistol,” Jack muttered, taking a step toward the weapon rack he had set up with a variety of types—all with brand loyalty, of course—for their use. “We’ll just get’cha a shotgun. With the wide spread of bullets, you’re bound to hit **somethin** ’. Literally just point and shoot. It’s practically doin’ the work for ya.”

Rhys sighed tiredly and ran a few fingers through his hair, glancing over his shoulder. “You know, Jack, I’m just not feeling it today. Can we try again tomorrow or something?”

“Oh—oh, _yeah_ , sure, why not? Rhys wants to wait ‘til tomorrow, so I guess everything’s just gonna stop ‘til then.” Jack abruptly spun on his heel and placed his hands atop his hips, glaring. “News flash: The bandits ain’t waitin’ for tomorrow, cupcake.”

“There aren’t any bandits here,” he droned, growing sick of his boss’s continued dramatics, “and it’s just one day.”

When morning had come to Helios, an extremely sleepy, irritated, and sore Rhys had been ushered straight into the weapons training Jack had promised. Having woken up with a pounding headache was the first of his problems with that idea, and the shrill gunshots had since done nothing except worsened the pain to a truly sinister throb just below his skull. Additionally, he found it more difficult than usual to focus and kept spacing out just as he squeezed the trigger—the force behind the bullet sending him stumbling backwards in his distraction. There was a strange itch skittering over his senses, an urgent need for something, and his mind was thoroughly elsewhere while that something was absent. He was ridiculously antsy, his hands shaking slightly and throwing his aim off further still. Perhaps he could have been a halfway decent shot under different circumstances.

Consequently, his continued failure had worn down on Jack’s already tentative patience over the past hour, and he endured a nonstop barrage of insults being hurled at him with each new shot that didn’t ooze sharpshooter perfection. Anger was rising within him, simmering just beneath the surface, while Jack grew increasingly verbal with his displeasure.

“That’s the kind of thinkin’ that’s gonna get’cha killed,” Jack hissed. “Now, c’mon. If you’re not gonna try the shotgun, then master the pistol already. Tick-tock, dickhead—you’re gonna die! What’re ya gonna do about it?”

Rhys’s brow pinched into a glare of his own, and he made no move to continue shooting down the range. His neck prickled in warning at the dangerous curl of Jack’s lips, but he couldn’t stop himself. He knew he was in no shape to continue with his target practice, and he simply wasn’t feeling like being pushed around that day. “ _I said_ I want to try again another time. I can’t concentrate right now.”

“Then _concentrate_.” He sneered, as if it were the simplest concept to grasp.

“It’s not that easy,” the body double argued.

“Oh, really? Is the target movin’? Is it shootin’ back?” Jack demanded. “ _No_ , it’s not. So why don’t’cha enlighten me? ‘Cause I really wanna know why it’s so complex. Maybe I can get my R&D lab coats on it right away. I mean, what’s Eridium refinement and weapon development compared to why Rhys can’t hit a fuckin’ motionless target?”

“ _Asshole_ ,” Rhys snarled almost inaudibly under his breath. He turned to face Jack fully and continued icily, “I’ll practice twice as long tomorrow to make up for this, okay? I just can’t do it today. I’m not feeling great, and I don’t know why. I’m just asking for a freaking break for once.”

“You’re gonna keep shootin’ ‘til I say you’re done.” The glint in Jack’s eyes dared Rhys to press the issue further with him. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared him down. “You can rest when I see some goddamn progress. Now, show me this hasn’t been a complete waste of my time and bullets!”

“I bet if I was Tim, you’d go easier on me,” Rhys snapped against better judgment.

Jack laughed at that. “Oh, don’t _even_ go there, princess. Tim doesn’t need hand-holding. Know why? ‘Cause he’s down on Elpis right now shootin’ all his problems square in the face—or takin’ a rocket launcher and blowin’ ‘em to smoldering pieces. Meanwhile, you’re standin’ here safe-as-can-be on Helios and bitchin’ away about learnin’ to be a badass. Actually, I’m pretty damn embarrassed for ya right now.”

“Then make Tim go to Pandora if he’s that awesome. Just leave me out of it.”

“I need him on Elpis, dumbass. Shit falls apart when he’s gone. Scavs get cocky, start thinkin’ it’s for the takin’. But keepin’ Elpis in line, that’s the easy part. You and me, kid—we’re gonna tame Pandora.” Jack then eyed Rhys and continued wryly, “Well, if you can even manage to shoot yourself point-blank through the hand, that is. _And_ if you get rid of that ungrateful attitude ya got goin’ on.”

“I _am_ grateful you’re taking the time to teach me how to defend myself,” Rhys forced out slowly in a semi-cordial tone. However, the way his eyes narrowed detracted from its sincerity somewhat. “But I would be _more_ grateful if you’d go easier on me. I’m not one of your hardened soldiers.”

“Nah. Nah, you aren’t,” Jack readily agreed. “And you’re definitely not Tim. Not by a long shot. And ya know what? I’m thankful for that. I mean, could you imagine? I’d be the laughing stock of Elpis.”

“And I’m not _you_.” He took a step forward, ignoring the jab at his expense.

Jack smiled serenely. “If you’re not me, who are you, then?”

He rolled his eyes but hesitantly took the bait. “…Rhys. I’m Rhys.”

“Huh? Who’s this 'Reeze' guy? I swear to shit I had him erased from existence already.” Jack laughed, running a hand through his styled locks. “Then I guess that makes you a big-goddamn-nobody, huh? Maybe Henderson was wrong about’cha.”

At that, Rhys’s self-control finally snapped. Jack was right, of course, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. With his weapon still clutched in his hand, he growled, “ _Fuck_ this.” _And fuck you_ , he added, wisely to himself.

“Ah, ah, back to it, pumpkin. I mean it,” Jack insisted with an undertone of warning. “You’re gonna die if ya don’t learn.”

“Then I’ll fucking **die**!” With that, the seething body double shoved roughly past Jack, who gaped at him for a few seconds before snapping out of it. Sensing the danger, Rhys made a frantic beeline for the elevator, but the older man reacted faster, reaching out to snatch him by the wrist and yank him painfully back around to face him.

“ _Oh-ho-ho_. All right, then. If that’s how you wanna do this, then we’ll do this the hard way.” Jack pried the pistol from Rhys’s trembling fingers and tossed it carelessly behind him, the clatter of its noisy impact on the metal floor punctuating his sentence. With angry purpose in his stride, the Hyperion CEO dragged his struggling companion behind him. “If you’re gonna act like a little shit, then I’m gonna have to beat a lesson into ya. And remember: You asked for this.”

“Lemme go, you asshole!” Rhys grunted, clawing wildly at the hand that was clamped down like iron on his wrist. His shoes slid across the smooth floor as he scrabbled for purchase. “You can’t— _gah_ —treat me like this!”

“I’ll treat’cha however I want,” Jack corrected tightly. “You belong to me.”

“I’m not yours, psycho!” Rhys yelled as he was tossed into the elevator. He hit the wall and glared darkly as the surprisingly aloof older man stepped in with him. The prim snap of the doors shutting and leaving him trapped in the small space with his unpredictable, violent boss didn’t sit well with him. “I’ve made that pretty goddamn clear!”

“Oh, did you? Funny—all I can recall is you comin’ all over my dick,” Jack cooed meanly. He flashed a smug smile at Rhys, who was alight with embarrassment and anger, before mashing buttons into the keypad and sending them flying upwards. “Remember how ya made out with me while I jerked us off? And that’s just that _one_ time. Admit it, Rhysie. You want my hands, my tongue, my **everything** … _all over_ you.”

Rhys turned his face away, ashamed with himself, because he had nothing with substance to retaliate with. Jack wasn’t completely wrong—in the moment in question, he had thoroughly enjoyed rutting against Jack and being able to feel something other than the constant weight bearing down on his shoulders, as his delicious orgasm had testified to. But he wasn’t attracted to Jack. He knew he wasn’t. How could he be attracted to someone who mocked and pushed him to the point that he was questioning his own actions? Gritting his teeth while his face heated up under his mask, all he could counter weakly with was, “Well, it won’t happen again.”

“Heh, yeah. We’ll see, kiddo.” It was a challenge, that was clear. It was obvious in the devilish quirk of Jack’s lips and the way his crinkled eyes confidently roamed his body double from top to bottom like he was admiring a trophy. Jack wasn't done with Rhys—and possibly never would be, even if he managed to learn what it felt like to sink deep inside his warm body, as breaking up with his long-time girlfriend indicated.

“I could have you beggin’ to take my cock right here against the wall, but you’d like that too much,” Jack continued with a crude simper. “I’ve got punishment to deal out. But… maybe later, if you’re good.”

The suggestive wink he received had Rhys sliding his eyes shut in dismay. He hardly knew which to dread more—punishment or what Jack perceived to be a reward. Both were equally ominous. The fact that he wasn’t strangled to death for his insult yet spoke volumes about his footing with the Hyperion CEO. It would undoubtedly be unpleasant, but he would survive it.

No, Rhys wouldn’t die yet. After all, Pandora had already reserved the spotlight engraving on his headstone.

_‘Executed and looted by vault hunters… picked apart by bandit psychos… with the meager, rancid remains fought over by rakks and skags. Not enough left worth digging a two-inch grave for.’_

But Jack would certainly receive an honorable mention below it in last-minute chicken scratch.

_‘Here lies Handsome Jack’s very expensive punching bag for the murderous filth of Pandora. All yours, kiddos!’_

Despite the cacophony of Rhys’s depressing, self-depreciating thoughts, the rest of the ride was mercifully silent as they arrived at the apartment. Jack stepped out, and Rhys warily followed moments later when he was given a pointed look. The wariness only escalated further when Jack headed directly into his bedroom. The older man had claimed he wouldn’t make any sexual advances toward Rhys for his ‘punishment,’ but the body double was beginning to doubt the sincerity of his words.

“Get the hell in here already!” Jack barked.

Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Rhys edged into the doorframe of his bedroom to peek in. He was greeted with the sight of his boss tapping a foot and frowning at him, both gestures colored brightly with impatience. The fact that Jack was still fully clothed was encouraging, but it did little to soothe his fears. Nonetheless, he cautiously entered the room.

Rhys was given no warning before the Hyperion CEO grasped two handfuls of his vest and collared shirt and ripped them apart with a surge of strength, the buttons popping off and clattering to the floor. Ignoring the startled cry from Rhys, he shoved the jacket and two layers of torn fabric off his shoulders, leaving him in just the soft yellow sweater.

“Get that off,” he ordered while tugging at the younger man’s belt and undoing it.

“What are you—god, _stop it!_ ” Rhys reached down to slap Jack’s hands away from his crotch. The harder he attempted to stop the man’s progress, the more Jack shoved against him in response, until his back was pressed flush against the bedroom wall.

He knew it. _He goddamn knew it._

Jack wedged a knee in between Rhys’s and promptly captured his wrists, transferring them to one hand so he could continue unimpeded in unbuttoning and unzipping the obstacles in his way. The rough fabric of the jeans was determinedly worked down wiggling hips and pooled at his knees.

All the while, Rhys bucked his hips and squirmed desperately, his anxiety skyrocketing due to the Hyperion CEO’s persistence in undressing him. At the brush of cool air on his bare groin when his boxers had followed in his jeans’ wake, he jerked violently and let out a shrill cry of, “ _Stop!_ ”

Jack released the wrists clamped in his one-handed grasp so he could drag Rhys’s sweater up his abdomen and over his pectorals, but he was unable to continue when it bunched underneath the other man’s armpits since he made no move to raise his arms. “Hey, don’t make me tear this, too. It’s got sentimental value, ya know?”

“Why are you doing this?” Rhys demanded, shivering at how exposed he was. “Is this my punishment? Are—are you gonna **rape me** or something?!”

Jack eyed him for a long moment before dropping his gaze contemplatively over the vulnerable body before him, taking in the erect rosiness of Rhys’s nipples puckering in the chilly air—the swift rise and fall of his chest with every shallow gasp—the anxious twitch of his abdomen—and his very flaccid length and testicles hanging between his muscular thighs. Then he flicked his heterochromatic eyes back up to meet the identical ones staring back at him, watching fear pass like a shadow over Rhys’s face. He licked his lips. “Not gonna lie to ya… This is _really_ doin’ it for me.”

Rhys cupped his hands over his genitals to hide them from the man’s scrutiny and cowered slightly. He couldn’t do it. Whatever mental lapse he had in the past to accept the older man’s advances, whatever veil shrouded his eyes and made him look past the very maleness of Jack, he didn’t have it then. Instead, he was fighting back nausea at the thought of being forced into sex.

“… _Buuut_ no,” Jack finished with a flourish. “Finish gettin’ all that off. Where’d ya put your shorts and shirt I gave ya?”

When the older man pulled away and gave the body double some breathing room, Rhys panted hotly, listening to his pulse thundering in his ears. It took him some time to switch gears, as bewildered as he was, before considering the question. Hesitantly, he responded, “…In the dirty clothes basket. I wasn’t sure what to do to have them washed. Why?”

Jack located the aforementioned clothing and plucked them out of the multitude of jeans and shirts that were already crammed inside. “I’ll have someone come by later and take ‘em to be washed. But I don’t have any replacements with me, so you’re gonna have to wear ‘em for now.”

“No!” Rhys gaped at the suggestion. “That’s freakin’ _gross_. I have a closet full of clean clothes. In fact, my clothes were fine until you ripped them off!”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna need these clothes when we go exercise.”

“Wha—exercise? _Now?_ ” Rhys was dizzy from the whiplash of Jack’s apparent indecision throughout the morning. He sagged against the wall, still carefully covering his groin. The thought of going for a run didn’t settle well with him, especially since he was still slightly sick to his stomach. Besides that, he was still entertaining the nagging guest that was his headache, and he wanted nothing more than to fall onto something comfortable and be done with the day—with the week. “I… I can’t.”

“Oh, this again.” Jack rolled his eyes, completely unconvinced. “Next, you’re gonna be tellin’ me that you can’t get it up, and I’m just gonna have to prove ya wrong. Don’t worry. I like challenges.”

Rhys didn’t want to lower himself to begging. He truly didn’t. But he was desperate. It was his last resort, and he swallowed what was left of his tattered pride. “ _Please_ , Jack. I…”

“ _God_ , say that slower,” he purred. “Maybe moan a little for me, kitten? If you’re gonna beg me, make it good.”

With a sigh, long and suffering in its quality, Rhys steeled himself and shoved his boxers and jeans down his legs, removing his shoes in the process. Then he tossed his sweater off, leaving it in a pile at his feet, uncaring of its ‘sentimental value.’ Even without Jack bluntly denying his plea for mercy, he knew it wouldn’t be granted. He scolded himself inwardly for even hoping it would come. Ashamed, he glanced down at this feet, hands cupped over himself, and waited for Jack to approach with the soiled clothing. When the Hyperion CEO stopped in front of him, he grimly dragged his gaze up and tried not to notice the impressive erection tenting his jeans as he did.

Jack took his time giving Rhys the clothing, seemingly distracted by the younger man’s completely nude form—except for a pair of socks—laid out like a buffet before him, but he finally snapped out of it and gave Rhys a particularly wicked smile. Then he shoved the shorts and shirt against his chest, forcing Rhys to uncover himself to accept them.

“I know it usually works the other way around… but why not give me a show?” Jack stepped back and sat on the edge of Rhys’s bed, legs spread. He reached between his thighs and idly palmed the line of his cock.

It was clearly just to entice Rhys—it was difficult to really feel anything through the denim—but Rhys was unpersuaded and didn’t even glance at him while he stepped into his shorts and dragged them up his hips, then slipped into his shirt, cringing as he did when it came into contact with his clean skin. He remembered how soaked it had been after their run, and he could still detect whiffs of sweat as the fabric shifted around him while he stepped back into his sneakers. It disgusted him. In fact, the entire day had been disgusting so far.

There was nothing sexy about his task of dressing himself, as his face twisted and contorted with his discomfort, and he felt gross. He was dreading the impending punishment, and his muscles ached dully in reminder of the last time he had pushed his body too far. But finally being dressed under the smoldering gaze of a man who clearly was inches away from fucking him was a small comfort, even as tiny and tight as the shorts were.

Rhys had learned to cherish the small comforts by this point.

Jack huffed in disappointment, unimpressed by the lack of a suggestive show. He stopped stroking himself and instead heaved himself to his feet. Motioning for his body double to follow him back out, they rode their way down to where Rhys predicted his punishment would take place.

“Get started. I’ll let'cha know when to stop.” Jack jerked his chin toward the track and crossed his arms.

Rhys paused and looked back at him warily. “You’re not gonna run with me?”

“Do I _look_ dressed for it?” Jack shot him a look that dripped with sarcasm and plainly insulted his intelligence.

“You used ‘we’ when you were talking about exercising,” Rhys pointed out icily. “So I thought I was safe to assume—”

“—Ugh, just _shut up_ already. Get goin’ before I get real angry with ya. You think runnin’ on a track is bad? Wait 'til I throw you out with the goddamn stalkers because you are _really_ testin’ my patience today.”

Grudgingly, Rhys worked through his stretches, and he managed to complete them without any lewd advances on Jack’s part, as it seemed he really was growing livid with him. It was oddly more terrifying than being yelled at—the less emotion that Jack showed, the angrier he was.

He thankfully felt looser when he took his place at the start of the track and inhaled softly. _Pace yourself_ , he told himself when he started out in a jog, swinging his arms leisurely at his sides. _I can do this. I can get through it if I pace myself._

“Faster!” Jack commanded, much to his distress.

Consequently, every lap after that became more difficult than he intended, and he lingered after completing every one, waiting for Jack to call him back and let him go—but the older man never did. Then his lingering quickly became struggling to catch his breath after about the fifth lap, and he spent a full minute bent over with his hands on his knees, eyes squeezed shut in pain. His lungs were burning like brands in his chest, and his legs were becoming unresponsive and heavy with every torturous step he continued to put himself through.

He needed to stop. He was nearly at his limit, and his head was pounding like the beating of a war drum. With labored breathing, he tiredly cracked his eyes open just in time to see Jack slide something shiny and yellow out of his jacket from his peripheral vision.

A shot rang out, loud and reverberating deafeningly throughout the room.

Rhys yelped, leaping back from where a bullet had ricocheted and clutching at his ringing ears. He stared wide-eyed at the mark it had left on the floor before swinging his head up, watching Jack stroke the barrel of his pistol like he would a lover. “Are you _fucking insane?!_ ”

“No, just sick of your shit,” Jack told him calmly. “Get this outta the way, behave next time, and we won’t find ourselves in this kind of situation again. Capiche?”

“So you fire a pistol at me instead of using words? What is **wrong** with you?!”

“No more fuckin’ breaks. Like I’ve said again and again, you keep goin’ ‘til I tell you to stop.”

Seeing no other choice, Rhys pushed himself back into a light jog that was hardly more than a walk as he slowly circled the track again. Fortunately, Jack didn’t comment on his pace, and he was able to focus entirely on just putting one foot in front of the other and not falling on his face. His face was burning bright red by now in his exertion, though the mask successfully hid it. Every gulp of air was a sting in his chest, and his head was beginning to swim. With heavy gasps, he finished his lap and reluctantly began another one when Jack continued to say nothing.

His thoughts became a desperate jumble of pleas for water and a rest, for Jack to let him stop. Staring down at his feet was all he could manage, for he didn’t want to look up and discourage himself with the distance needed to complete each lap. The ground beneath him was a wobbling mass of nonsensical colors as salty sweat and dizziness blurred his eyes.

“I’m not tryin’ to make things hard for ya, kiddo! You’re the one makin’ it hard for me!” Jack finally called out without prompt just as Rhys rounded the track for the eighth time and nearly stumbled over his own feet. Then he broke off and snickered at his wittiness. “Seriously, though, you learn your lesson yet? I’ve got shit to do, and I’m tired of babysittin’ ya.”

“Y-yes!” he choked out weakly, doubled over in his breathless agony. “Jack—I’ve… I’ve learned my lesson. Please… let me stop. I _can’t_ go on. I **can’t**.”

“…All right, fine. Good enough for me.” Jack motioned with a curl of his fingers for Rhys to approach. “You look sufficiently wrecked.”

He wearily dragged himself toward his boss, clutching his abdomen and gasping to nourish his lungs with each shallow breath. In his dizziness, the room was spinning around him, making each step a chore and an almost-tumble, and there was a warning throb in his stomach that persisted. When he staggered to a stop in front of Jack, wheezing and soaked with sweat, he felt a terrifying lurch in his stomach, and that was all the warning he received. Abruptly, a violent gag escaped him, and he veered forward while putrid stomach acid spilled from his gaping lips and showered their shoes and the floor immediately beneath them.

Jack slapped a hand over his forehead and rubbed at his brow for a few long, silent moments while his body double continued dryly retching into the puddle of sick he had made. Then he dragged his fingers down his mask with exaggerated exasperation. His face was deadly calm. “Go back to your fuckin’ apartment.”

With that, Jack stalked away and zipped out of sight in the elevator, leaving Rhys to gingerly wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. It took him a few moments to recover, but when he was sure he had finished expelling his meager breakfast, wrinkling his nose delicately at the smell, he slouched his way back to his apartment to have a much-needed shower.


	11. Breaking Down ...

The spray of the shower that he sat under—his legs in too much pain to support his weight for the entire hour he was in it—did its job and washed away his sweat and the traces of vomit, but by the end of it, Rhys was still in a very dark mood. He barely acknowledged that his dirty clothing had been retrieved as promised when he entered his bedroom and dressed himself in jeans and a sweater, choosing to forgo the remainder of the stifling outfit.

It was a battle to stay upright, so he sat on the edge of his bed, stewing moodily about the Hyperion CEO and his foul treatment. As much as he despised Jack’s impatience and lack of mercy, he did reserve a small amount of blame for himself, as well. If he hadn't always neglected his fitness, instead choosing to sit on his ass, he would have been prepared for this. But knowing Jack, he would have found a new way to dig a few fingers into Rhys’s wounded pride, had he been unfazed by running for two miles straight.

When Angel checked on him, he took the opportunity to let out some of his loathing to someone who clearly realized that Handsome Jack was a cruel person under his attractive, seemingly charming exterior. It was a relief to have her there to vent to. Had it been Timothy instead, it would have become an unsatisfying argument about how Rhys simply didn’t see what a good person Jack had the capacity to be sometimes. No, he just needed to rant, and he wanted someone to agree with him wholeheartedly.

It helped immensely. Once he calmed down, and there was a comfortable lull between them, he suddenly remembered that he wanted to ask Angel a question that had been plaguing him. She was his last hope for an answer, besides asking Jack, who was sure to be unhelpful. “Angel, do you know anything about Jack's chair? I think it's been making me do, er, _weird things_ , but I can't explain it.”

He hadn't expected her to flounder helplessly for a few moments, but when she finally sighed and told him, he was absolutely floored by the rather thorough answer she gave.

 _“It's dopamine,”_ Angel told him, guilt coloring her tone. _“It’s supposed to help Jack relax when he’s stressed—which is all the time. In large, prolonged doses like you’ve been inhaling… you’ve become addicted to it. I fear that what you are experiencing are the first stages of withdrawal. You haven’t been exposed to it in several days, and your body is suffering without it.”_

“Dopamine,” Rhys repeated blankly, the word leaving a sour taste in his mouth on the way out. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, fishing for an appropriate response, and he shook his head in disbelief, as if he didn’t fully understand what he had been told. “…So I’ve been drugged. And now I’m a drug addict. Is… is that what you’re saying to me right now?”

 _“...Yes,”_ she reluctantly confirmed. Her voice was quieter, hesitant. _“I believe Jack was attempting to… condition you.”_

Rhys brought his hand to his trembling lips and bit down on his knuckle, staring at nothing in particular as his eyes darted around wildly. He couldn't cling to any one emotion as he struggled to absorb the new, terrifying information he had been given.

 _“To, um, to accept his advances,”_ she continued haltingly. She was skittish, as if she feared something she said would set him off _. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner, Rhys. I… I didn’t think it had gotten to this point of severity. And—and I might have been a little distracted with my blueprints and some other things...”_

Still, Rhys offered nothing, his thoughts nearly drowning her out. The implications of being unknowingly drugged, which had led him to accepting the advances of his asshole of a boss, were much too noisy in his head. He couldn't help but to feel slightly relieved to finally have an answer—even if the answer was the reason his face was twisting with silent fury. All those nights he had stayed up late berating himself for his moments of weakness, for abandoning his values in favor of a cheap orgasm, had been for nothing, and he didn't even realize his pacing had taken him out of his bedroom until the skag leather of one of the living room couches was clutched in his white-knuckled grip.

 _“I'm so sorry, Rhys,”_ Angel pleaded, taking his continued silence as anger toward her. _“I should have told you sooner. Being distracted with my plan is no excuse for letting you suffer. And—and admittedly, I didn't know when the right time was to tell you. I didn't want you to... to act rashly when I told you.”_

“It's fine.” His teeth were gritted as he forced the words out. He hadn't meant to use such a short retort with an even shorter tone, but he was furious—not at Angel, but at Jack. His body was screaming for a satisfying confrontation, ending with his fist across Jack's face, while steadily ignoring the small part of him that still feared what the older man could do in return. Rhys wasn't feeling particularly rational, and it was impossible to rein himself back in. He needed to let some of his anger out before he ended up accidentally unleashing it on Angel in the crossfire. So much regret and self-loathing had built up under the man's conditioning, and to learn it was all for naught? He was too far gone now.

 _“Rhys—what are you doing?”_ Angel demanded, growing panicked. _“Rhys?”_

The body double's feet were taking him to the elevator. His destination was painfully obvious.

 _“Rhys, no! Stop!”_ she cried as he stepped over the threshold without paying her heed. _“You're not thinking clearly! What will happen if he— **Rhys**!”_

When the doors slid shut, her frantic protests were cut off as he disconnected the call. His glare drilled a hole in the wall above the keypad as he quickly ascended. There was no speech being prepared in his mind this time, and he just let his anger guide him.

Storming down the hallway adorned with Handsome Jack's portraits, his steps echoed sharply the entire way. His thundering approach was impossible to ignore, and when the double doors slid away to reveal a perturbed Jack seated behind his desk, his pace increased.

“What the hell do you want?” Jack wasn't particularly happy to see him and made no move to stand, though his eyes did narrow slightly at the intense stare adorning his body double's face. He had been engrossed in work on his computer and swiftly retracted the monitors with a press of a button.

Abruptly, Rhys broke out in a run, leaping up the stairs in his way and ignoring the throbs resonating through his body from the strenuous workout he recently endured. His gaze was zeroed in on his boss, and nothing else mattered at that moment—nothing except his retribution.

“ _You fucking asshole!_ ” Rhys yelled, and he threw himself across the desk with outstretched arms, knocking a picture frame and various papers off as he did, grabbing ahold of the startled older man’s lapels and knocking him out of the chair. They landed in a heap on the floor roughly. Before the older man could react, Rhys jerked his arm up and landed a solid punch across Jack’s masked face, bashing into the cartilage of his nose. The pained shout from the Hyperion CEO was extremely satisfying but wasn't quite enough in his rage. Unfortunately, his advantage of surprise ran out, and his next punch was deflected by a forearm that was thrown in its path.

Jack gained the upper hand, rolling them over so he was on top of Rhys. With watery eyes, he panted fiercely, his disheveled hair hanging in his face. Bright crimson blood dribbled from his nose and pooled against his upper lip. His hands were wrapped tightly around his body double’s neck, squeezing until the younger man was gasping weakly for breath, eyes bugging out.

Rhys clawed at Jack’s hands, digging his nails into the skin until it broke and caught under his fingernails. He wheezed for air, lungs burning, chest tightening, until black crept in at the edges of his eyesight. The terrifying visage of Handsome Jack kneeling above him, eyes alight with murderous intentions, took up his waning vision. With the last of his breath, he gasped out brokenly, “ _Jack._ ”

The Hyperion CEO loosened his grip on Rhys’s neck and watched with sadistic pleasure as Rhys gulped in air and choked and coughed on each labored breath. His fingers were still curled around the bruised flesh, twitching and poised, as if ready to strike once again at the smallest sign of defiance.

But the body double was far from any defiant thoughts at the moment in the aftermath of his near-strangulation. Exhausted from the impromptu fight and feeling drained from his anger fizzling into pathetic nothingness, Rhys’s eyes slid shut, and he fell limp against the floor, panting hotly and face bright red under his mask. Even with the shockingly cold metal beneath him and a hard, heavy body straddling his, he was close to falling away into sweet unconsciousness.

“You’ve been the _hugest_ fuckin’ pain in my ass all day,” Jack hissed in Rhys’s face, rudely shaking him awake. His voice was slightly nasal from the nose trauma. “Now, tell me what _the fuck_ got into you. ‘Cause clearly you’ve got somethin’ to say to me.”

“You… you drugged me,” he accused hoarsely, peering up at Jack. He flinched when a drop of blood broke loose from Jack’s lips and landed on his cheek.

“Yeah, I did. And yeah, you loved it. And guess what? You’re gonna **continue** to love it.”

“Like… _hell_.”

“And now the big question becomes, ‘What made ya figure it out just now?’ You’ve been inhalin’ the stuff for a week.” Jack’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Out with it. Who the hell told you?”

“Nobody,” he deflected with a wheeze, his heart beginning to race at the realization of his dire mistake. “…I just finally figured it out.”

The Hyperion CEO heartily laughed in his face, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah, _bullshit._ C’mon, I’m not gonna ask you again. You lie to me once more, and I’m gonna be in the market for a new body double.”

Rhys squeezed his eyes shut in dismay. He would never give up Angel. He didn’t want to imagine what he’d do to her. AIs could be replaced—though not very easily—but they were still expendable, as were, apparently, body doubles.

“Was it Angel?” Jack muttered, eyes trained on his body double’s conflicted face.

Rhys eternally damned himself for it, but try as he might, he couldn’t suppress the surprise that flitted across his features when his eyes shot open at that. How did Jack know? They had been so careful to cover their tracks.

The older man nodded grimly at his reaction. “Yeah… thought so.”

“I-I didn’t say—uh, so who… who’s this ‘Angel’ person?” Rhys choked out pathetically in a last-ditch effort to save her from his boss’s wrath. All the while, he was screaming curses at himself in his head. _Goddamn it, Rhys,_ he raged to himself.

“Oh, spare me. This ain’t the first time she’s disobeyed me.” Jack dug his fingertips into Rhys’s bruised neck the slightest bit and leaned forward. “What else has she told you?”

“Nothing,” Rhys gasped. “She’s told me nothing. I promise.”

“Nothing… about me?” Jack urged menacingly. “Nothing _at all?_ ”

“N-no, Jack.”

It was clear in the way Jack stared down at him that he didn’t believe him, but it was fruitless to keep pressing for information that Rhys was unwilling to give. As already proven, threats could only go so far, and strangling only made it so the younger man could barely speak—continuing to attempt it would obviously result in death. Short of torture, there was little he could do to force Rhys to speak.

The body double blinked when Jack finally released him and heaved himself to his feet, towering over his prone form. With the leverage from his elbows, he propped himself up and warily eyed the offered hand from his boss hovering above him. He eventually accepted it, and he was pulled to his own feet.

“Be a good boy and go back to your apartment, and I’ll be willin’ to overlook this,” Jack informed him, blank-faced. His eyes saw past Rhys and focused somewhere else—undoubtedly in the vicinity of Pandora, where his mind always was.

There was nothing more Rhys could do but take the opportunity to escape relatively unscathed, rubbing tenderly at his sore neck. This time around, he was the one apologizing to Angel, who accepted it while sounding as if Rhys had kicked her puppy right in front of her and spat on it while it was down. It made him feel terrible, which heaped heavily on the pile of stress he was already supporting.

And so ended quite possibly the worst day of his life, with a gruesome necklace of blue and black, an insatiable need for a fix that he fought against with all his might, and a strained relationship with the mysterious voice he called his friend.

His one consolation was that he didn’t think it could possibly get any worse from there.

 

* * *

  
  
Despite his optimism, nothing prepared him for the first night after the fight in Jack’s office and even less for the first full day. He woke up from his fitful sleep to a high-priority text message ordering him to the office, and he trembled under the pure _need_ that subconsciously surged through him at the thought of the sweet blissfulness that the dopamine offered to him. He quickly grew desperate and painstakingly counted the days since he last sat in that wonderful, horrible chair. Had it already been about four days? It was almost surreal that he was still functioning as little as he was without it.

He could barely sleep. He could barely think. **He needed it**. But he wouldn’t let himself have it. Keeping himself locked away in his apartment was the best choice because he knew he could beat the addiction that had been forced on him. He had survived this long in his life without drugs already, despite multiple temptations during college, and he knew he could get through it and revert back to his normal, productive self.

“Angel,” he croaked into his ECHO-comm after connecting to her. His voice was still slightly hoarse from being strangled, but even if he hadn’t been assaulted, it was still difficult to force the words out when his body was yearning to take him up to the office for a quick reprieve. “You got the footage going? I’m just gonna stay in my room today.”

 _“Of course, Rhys,”_ she responded, her tone so blank and cool that he had no trouble picturing her as the AI she was.

It made him wince. He really messed up, and he didn’t know how begin to make up for his horribly irrational behavior. She had begged him to stop, and he had ignored her and even hung up on her, all so he could bruise his knuckles on Jack’s bony nose, which most assuredly had already been fully healed by Hyperion medics and their highly advanced treatments. There was nothing he could take out of that confrontation that made it worth it in his mind, now that he wasn’t clouded by his anger. He had only made things harder for the both of them.

 _“Jack is traveling here and will be staying for the next two days,”_ she continued dispassionately. _“I will do my best to divert his attention from our interactions.”_

He swallowed thickly. “All right. Will you be okay?”

 _“Yes. He can’t possibly hurt me any more than he has already._ ” With that cryptic statement, she disconnected.

Angel’s words had shaken him to the core, and he stressed over what she could possibly mean by that for the next hour or so, until his withdrawal began to fight for dominance in his mind and inevitably won. He quickly needed something to distract himself with, and his ECHO-comm, with its limited entertainment, proved to be a poor choice, as did the Hyperion-sponsored television, which he dragged himself out of the bedroom to watch. He was too sick to eat, and going down to the track to work on his endurance with his body in its current state was completely out of the question.

He eventually decided to send Timothy an ECHO in order to have someone to chat with, but it had been diverted to a thickly-accented personal assistant, who informed him that Handsome Jack was incredibly busy keeping order on Elpis and had left it to her to take any messages for the next few days. He chose not to leave a message and despondently hung up.

He wanted to see Vaughn and Yvette, but it was Thursday afternoon, meaning they were fully engrossed in work. Furthermore, he was in little shape to reveal himself to Helios. The last thing he needed to do was encourage rumors that he was ailed with sickness and have them get back to Jack somehow. He had acted irrationally enough for the past day and needed to prove to Angel that he was still trustworthy and level-headed.

Depression started to creep in when he realized he had nothing but the silence of the empty apartment to keep him company. Angel was most likely angry with him and playing host to a tense inquisition from Jack, so he wisely left her alone. That led to him tugging the flier he had taken from Vaughn out from between his mattress and bed frame. He stared down at his picture of Vaughn and him—his old self. He hardly recognized himself anymore, and he spent a long time just gazing at it wistfully before tucking it away again when the pang in his heart became too unbearable.

Nestled in his bed, he managed a few hours of sleep before the heat under the blanket quickly became unbearable, and he jerked awake and kicked the heavy fabric off and onto the floor. He was sweating—feverish almost. He rolled around, struggling to find a comfortable position, but nothing satisfied his antsy form. As exhausted as he was, he couldn’t lay still and fall back asleep. He was wide awake, and his mind was on the dopamine chair waiting for him somewhere above his head. It was calling to him. He laid in bed suffering during the longest, most torturous evening of his life, and every time he glanced at the time, only an hour had passed. It mocked him—he wasn’t even sure what he was waiting for. Perhaps for Jack to return so he would be forced to retreat to the office and inhale the dopamine, and it wouldn’t be his fault that he remained firmly rooted in his addiction?

He chose not to dwell on it.

The second day after his fight, Rhys was an absolute mess, to say the least. He hadn’t bothered to shower in several days, and his face was greasy with sweat and oil. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with dark bags. His cheeks were gaunt and flushed—he had thrown the mask against the far wall somewhere in his despair, uncaring of where it landed but knowing he didn't want to look at it.

He had since shed his clothing except for his boxer shorts, which were damp with his sweat and clung to him like an annoying second skin.

Mercifully, Jack was still away, and there was an identical text message greeting him. The upside to his boss still being away was that it saved him the trouble of having to be scolded for his recent neglect. He didn’t even have to look into a mirror to know that he looked disgusting—he felt like he had crawled into a putrid carcass and festered in the gore for several days. Furthermore, his withdrawal symptoms would be obvious, and the Hyperion CEO wouldn’t need long to realize that the footage of him sitting at the desk had been nothing more than a clever falsification. After all, why would he be going through withdrawal if he were dutifully inhaling the dopamine every day as the camera surveillance suggested?

He knew that he needed to clean himself up and somehow prepare himself for Jack’s return the next day, but his body was in too much pain to move from its place buried in the mattress of his bed. His bones hurt, his muscles hurt, and even his skin hurt. Reminding himself that he needed to take a shower and brush his teeth only served to deter him further when he realized that he’d have to move his aching mess of a body to accomplish it. Additionally, he’d have to turn on the light to be able to see, and just glancing at the screen of his ECHO-comm was a sting to his blurry, light-deprived eyes.

Trying to sleep the pain away seemed far more preferable, and his hygienic responsibilities took a backseat to laziness. For a while, that was his strategy, but the worse he grew, even to the point of physical illness, the more his body was screaming out for him to give in. It took everything within him to ignore it, but he had become a weaker person over the course of his withdrawal.

His struggle was admirable, but in the end, Rhys physically couldn’t endure it any longer and regretfully found himself crawling back to the dopamine chair, so to speak. In actuality, he couldn’t get to it fast enough, and—clad only in his boxer shorts and a sheen of his filthy neglect and simply too far gone to care—he raced down the hallway on shaky legs and past the bewildered personal assistant with a frantic slap of bare feet on metal. The office doors didn’t open quickly enough for his liking, and he squeezed his way between them, stumbling into the office like a tottering newborn and up toward the yellow chair, which beckoned its pilgrim forward attractively like a shimmering oasis in a desert.

The body double fell onto the chair haphazardly, and the sobs began to spill from him, loud and unbidden. He cried over his weakness, over his inescapable, spiraling addiction. He wailed over how everything had fallen to pieces and over his looming death timer ticking away, though time had stopped for him over a week ago. He mashed his palms into his eye sockets until spots of color exploded in front of his vision before sliding them up into his matted, greasy hair. Hot tears poured from his eyes, and his surroundings swam in a gray, blurry haze in front of him.

 **_Weak._** _I’m weak and pathetic._

And slowly, as the minutes ticked by, his crying subsided until he was only sniffling pathetically against the mucus that had gathered in his despair. He wiped his nose messily on his arm.

Then he was leaning back and lounging contentedly, red-eyed and unmasked face wet with streaks of tears. He couldn’t remember exactly why he had been upset in the first place, as faraway as the sudden outburst seemed, until it was a distant memory in the back of his mind, neatly tucked away with the rest of his troubles.


	12. ... And Gathering the Pieces

As a child, there were many things that Rhys had been hesitant to claim to be afraid of, and he was quick to hide behind a bravado so nobody would discover his irrational fears and ridicule him for them. Such fears consisted of storybook monsters and villains who stole children and turned them into soup; having dental work or haircuts done—or frankly having any sharp instrument anywhere near his person despite multiple assurances that it wouldn’t hurt at all; and blossoming earlier than the rest of his peers and rediscovering the mythical creature known as the ‘girl,’ while the rest of the boys were still taunting and chasing them. The list went on and on, and as an adult, he could look back on each fuzzy memory and laugh or share them fondly over beers with Vaughn and Yvette.

Such concerns could have been excusable in a different world, perhaps, but he and the children he grew up with were raised on stories of fearless vault hunters taking down alien creatures of immeasurable power—mysterious guardians of even more vexing vaults. They were surrounded by the omnipotent might of Hyperion and its charismatic CEO, who didn’t have the capacity to cry. Being afraid of the space between his bed and the floor where toe-eating demons dwelled, of the inky blackness of his room where the light from the crack in the door couldn’t touch—those weren’t reasons to feel fearful.

However, waking up with a dishearteningly splotchy memory and being almost completely nude in Handsome Jack’s chair with no recollection of his journey to this point; having no concept of what time it was or how horribly he had screwed up in his drug-addicted desperation—those were reasons to be afraid. His ECHO-comm wasn’t with him, so he couldn’t even contact Angel to formulate a hasty plan for his latest mistake. Was Jack still away, or was he on the verge of walking in on his disoriented body double? Was the footage in the office being covered up somehow?

…What else had he done in his delirious state that had the potential to bite him in the ass later?

Being unable to trust even _his own_ _self_ —it slowly suffocated him like a bag over his head. Padding silently and tentatively over the cold metal, arms wrapped around his shivering body—unsure of what waited for him beyond the sliding doors—Rhys’s body was wracked with trembles and gooseflesh. Was it the aftershocks of his stifled withdrawal, the cold nip from the air conditioning, or the realization that he didn’t know how much longer he could keep his brave front up? Was it a combination of all three?

One thing was certain at this point: Rhys was scared shitless, and it wasn’t just because of Jack.

 

* * *

 

There was no personal assistant posted outside of the office, which suggested that it was past hours. But if she was dismissed, didn’t that mean Jack had returned from his trip to see Angel? There was no possibility in his mind that the older man hadn’t checked on his office before retiring to his apartment. It only served to fill him with further trepidation as the questions piled up, and he quickened his steps through the chilly room toward the elevator. With a swipe of the ID card he thankfully found tucked in the waistband of his boxers, he was descending to his apartment. It had never been a concern, but this time, he was sure to triple-check the numbers he tapped into the keypad so he didn’t accidentally end up in the Hub of Heroism in his pitiful state.

It was only when he stepped into the familiar, warm comfort of his private living space that he grabbed at his stomach, which let out a tortured rumble and crawled restlessly within him with his hunger. He hadn’t been able to muster the desire to eat for the last day, fearing that he would simply vomit it back up, so hunger was yet another thing he had neglected about himself.

Making the decision to either contact Angel for answers to his burning questions or satiate his hunger only took him a few seconds before his feet were taking him toward the kitchen and the refrigerator, which was always freshly stocked for him. He ended up shoveling everything he could fit into his mouth without taking the time to retrieve plates, utensils, or even prepare an actual meal from the ingredients. He was simply too ravenous to care, and he didn’t slow his pace until his stomach was bulging slightly from all the food he had forced down.

Contacting Angel was further postponed when he accidentally caught a whiff of his own body while cleaning up the mess he had made in the kitchen during his ravenous feast. It only took a second, with a particularly sour grimace accompanying the discovery, for him to decide it was time to take a shower, although he would have to take another one immediately in the morning. Copious amounts of soap aided the process to undo several days of neglect, and he washed his hair twice with shampoo before he could run his fingers through it without feeling disgusted.

The realization of just how much he had stopped caring about his own body’s needs truly shocked him, but once he emerged from the bathroom in a fragrant cloud of steam, he was feeling like an entirely different person. It was as if the last couple days had been nothing more than a long string of waking nightmares, and he was content to tuck them firmly in the back of his mind and re-orient himself back into a mindset to continue his business with Angel.

Rhys took a deep breath to steady himself, then took a seat on his bed. His ECHO-comm was abandoned on the blanket next to him, and he picked it up so he could connect to that mysterious female voice he had grown to rely on as one of his few allies. He could only hope she still trusted him after all the mistakes he had made in his drug-deprived state, and he chewed nervously on one of his fingernails.

 _“I take it you’re feeling better,”_ she observed, her voice as even as ever and betraying nothing of her mood. She had been completely unreadable since that night he confronted Jack.

“Yeah. I guess so,” he responded once he stopped chomping on his nail. He stressed over any possible hidden meanings in her abrupt greeting, or lack thereof, before broaching cautiously, “Are… are you okay?”

_“I’m fine. I told you he couldn’t hurt me—”_

“—more than he has,” Rhys finished with a hint of unease. That statement still made him sick, and he didn’t want to hear the grim words come from such a small female voice. It made him want to protect her, though there was absolutely nothing he could do. “Is he still there, uh, wherever you are?”

There was a long stretch of silence before she responded shortly, _“Yes.”_

“So… where did he go?”

_“To me.”_

As clever as she was, he didn’t think she misinterpreted his meaning, but nonetheless, he quickly elaborated, “I know that. What I mean is, where are you?”

She seemed heavily reluctant to answer his question—or maybe, with Jack still there, he was in hearing distance—but she finally acquiesced and quietly informed him, _“I’m on Pandora.”_

“Pandora?” He was bewildered at the very notion. Clearly, Angel was significant to Jack, enough so that he would pay her a personal visit, but why would he put her somewhere so dangerous and unpredictable? Did he care so little about what could happen? But as soon as the thoughts passed, he had to remind himself that she was an AI, not a young woman. And even if she were just an AI, she undoubtedly had numerous safeguards in place to keep the bandits and monstrous wildlife away. Perhaps—there was no safer place for an advanced piece of Hyperion tech. It certainly wasn’t his concern where Jack chose to hide his secrets away. “But… shouldn’t you be on Elpis… or even Helios? Why are you _there_ , of all places?”

 _“Reasons,”_ she deflected. _“Look, I can’t really talk right now.”_

“W-wait!” he blurted out before she could disconnect. “Can you at least update me on what to expect? Like, how did things go with Jack? Er—I mean, how _are_ they going?”

 _“I told him I was sick of watching him try to copulate with himself, so I mentioned the dopamine to scare you away from it,”_ Angel told him blankly. _“He laughed and called me ‘friggin’ adorable,’ then scolded me for interfering with his ‘extracurricular activities.’ I soothed things over by updating him on the vault hunters’ progress, and we deployed mortar strikes together.”_

“Well, that’s good, right? He doesn’t realize what’s going on.”

 _“Jack’s not stupid, Rhys,”_ she corrected him tersely. _“He laughed it off now, but I know him better than that. He’s suspicious now.”_

“Um, so—”

 _“—I really need to go now. I’m in the process of finding a new secretary for him_.” She remained impressively cordial despite the abrupt dismissal, but it was impossible to miss the note of stress in her cool voice.

“Angel…” he swallowed thickly around the words that formed at the back of his throat, hoping they came off as sincere as he meant them, “I’m sorry, okay? I should have listened to you. And… I shouldn’t have hung up on you. Yelling at Jack was incredibly stupid, and I know that now. Can—can you forgive me?”

 _“Rhys,”_ she began quietly, _“I…”_

“I hate to blame my mistakes on anything but myself,” Rhys hurriedly added when he detected the note of hesitation in her voice. “That’s not me. But knowing what I know now… about the dopamine… I wasn’t myself at all. I wasn’t thinking, and I _couldn’t_ think. You’ve gotta believe me—I don’t act like that, ever.”

She digested his words for a few moments before responding skittishly, _“I know. I understand that. But we are treading on extremely thin ice. You don’t understand; there is no going back once Jack discovers our plans. Everything will end for me and… and for you. I-I can’t risk that.”_

The tiny tremor in her voice tugged at Rhys’s heart, and his anxiety doubled. He couldn’t stand the thought that Angel had given up on him. He had dared to think he had some way out of his personal hell with her assistance, but to have completely ruined it in a single evening was inconceivable to him. His desperation was most assuredly palpable, as well as heavily audible in his voice, when he pleaded with her, “Angel, please—I… I’ll take the dopamine if it means you can trust me again. I won’t risk Jack learning about what we’re doing.”

 _“I don’t **want** you to take the dopamine for my sake,”_ she retorted firmly. _“I will find a way to retrieve the equipment from Nakayama so you don’t have to be involved anymore. Rhys—you just don’t get it. Jack doesn’t believe in second chances for traitors. …I shouldn’t have forced you into this. That was my fault.”_

“You didn’t force me,” he insisted. “I wanted to help you. And I still do.”

Angel let out a noise like a sigh and said nothing more, and it tore at him deeply. It was obvious she didn’t trust him anymore, and the sensation was similar to what he assumed losing one of his dear friends would feel like. He had grown extremely fond of the AI, as strange as that sounded, and he never intended to hurt her. Moreover, all he could picture was being stuck with nobody but Handsome Jack, living out the rest of his short life as a sex toy to the older man’s deviant desires and a slave to his menial tasks.

“I… I don’t know how much weight a drug addict’s words hold,” he forced out, ignoring the way his eyes burned. _Don’t cry_ , he berated himself sharply, dismayed by how emotional he had grown. However, he couldn’t lie to himself; it was difficult to admit that he had indeed become an addict when he had avoided it so well his entire life. All it had taken was one week to completely change that. “But I’m on your side. I won’t fail you again. I promise, okay? _Please_.”

 _“We’ll see,”_ she murmured, though not dispassionately. _“I need to think about it.”_

The screen flashed and informed him that she had disconnected from him, leaving him alone. Although the hour had grown late, he was far from tired and spent the rest of the night draped over one of the couches in the living space, staring mindlessly at the television screen in front of him. He had turned it on simply so the space could be filled with other voices; he was too consumed in his thoughts to pay close attention to the details of the program, instead going over what he could remember of the conversation with Angel in his head until he grew tired. At some point, his eyelids slipped shut, and he fell asleep there.

 

* * *

 

The next morning found Rhys leaning against the shower wall, face pressed to the cool tiles as he enjoyed the contrasting warm spray of water, when there was a momentary draft tickling at his back. His eyes flew open in alarm as a hard, nude body molded to his, leaving no space between them. He didn’t have to look down when a hand wrapped around his neck to spot that familiar blue tattoo. He didn’t need to turn his head to confirm that it was Handsome Jack’s masked lips pressing kisses into the side of his neck that wasn’t encircled by a possessive grasp. Who else would it have been?

There was a tingle of fear and a fleeting concern that Jack was here to finish the strangulation from days previous, but it was quickly unfounded. Jack was laving his neck with his tongue, sucking the wet skin briefly between his puckered lips. Hips were slowly ground into his backside, and the hand that wasn’t idly stroking the column of his neck trailed down over the sharp definition of his collarbones and further to tease at one of his nipples. A half-hearted attempt to stop the older man’s advances was batted away. The white-hot rage that had consumed him during their last confrontation was absent, and he barely had the willpower to summon a flicker of anger at the violation of his being. Had he grown accustomed to it? No, and he didn’t think he ever would. But he was weary, subdued, like he had lived this a hundred times already and had grown to accept that there was nothing he could do to escape it. It was a hollow feeling.

“What are you doing?” Rhys demanded in a low tone that was barely audible over the beating of the water on the shower floor. Instinctively expecting a smartass comment in rebuttal from his poor wording, he amended louder, “Why—why are you in here?”

“Takin’ a shower. ‘Cause it’s a shower,” Jack responded smartly once his lips separated from his body double’s reddened flesh. He tilted Rhys’s chin so he could study his sour expression and leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. He retreated with a sensual flick of his tongue. “Just got back, and I needed one.”

The younger man attempted to pull his chin out of that iron grip, but the fingers only tightened in warning over his jaw. “Don’t you have your own shower or something?”

“This is how ya greet me after I’ve been gone for a few days?” he retorted. His other fingers, which had been stroking his nipple tenderly, twisted harshly in punishment, drawing a hiss of pain. “Rude little shit.”

“Welcome back, Jack,” Rhys droned, discreetly shifting forward to escape the stifling heat of his companion’s body draped over his back. The cold tile was a shock to his skin, and he flinched when he was pressed firmly against it by Jack’s body. He could feel every quick puff of breath—betraying the older man’s exhilaration—on his neck and every twitch of his muscles. Lips returned to his neck and trailed hot kisses along its curve, and hips ground leisurely into him from behind.

The water from the showerhead poured over them, the droplets sliding between the tiny dips between their bodies, as few as there were.

Jack’s fingers slid down Rhys’s sides, tracing the angular contours of his form, until he reached his narrow hips. Wrapping his hands around them—his index fingers digging into his jutting hip bones and appreciating the way they curved sharply—the Hyperion CEO pulled until they were snugly pressed together, mock-rutting against soft, slick flesh with his rapidly growing erection. He forced Rhys to participate, pushing and pulling him with each thrust to simulate sex. His cock bent with each movement, pressed length-wise between Rhys’s cheeks and against his abdomen, leaking pre-cum that was quickly washed away in the warm downpour.

“That’s more like it,” Jack breathed as he angled his length to press briefly against Rhys’s puckered hole and, before the younger man could react violently, slip down farther to where his legs were parted. His grip on his hips tightened slightly, and a small, pleasured sound escaped him.

Rhys closed his eyes as Jack slid his way between his thighs. He shuffled, making a move to part them so he wouldn’t touch the other man, but he was stopped by a disapproving hand pushing against his outer thigh and keeping him in place.

“Keep ‘em closed, kitten,” Jack purred in his ear, following it with a lick to his earlobe. “Hope that’s not _too_ difficult a concept for ya.”

“Jack,” he warned icily, tensing in preparation, “I’m not gonna—”

“—Yeah, yeah, loud and clear. I’m not gonna fuck your asshole. Water is a shitty lube, anyway. You’d bleed all over the shower, and it wouldn’t feel all that great for me, either.”

“Okay… So what’re you…” he trailed off as the Hyperion CEO slid his swollen cock along the skin of his thighs, pulling back slightly before pushing back in. The smooth motion was repeated several times before it clicked. “Oh.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Jack mimicked snidely. “Like ya get your thighs fucked often. No surprise, no nothin’. You seriously crack me up sometimes, Rhys.”

With a shudder, he endured the strange sensation of the stiff, velvety flesh slowly penetrating the tight space between his thighs. He could no longer remain stoic and demanded disgustedly, “Where the hell did you even learn this?”

“From this, uh… I was just kinda surfin’ one day, and—hey, you know what? It doesn’t matter where,” Jack dismissed hastily. “Just… lemme try it out, all right? It looked kinda hot.”

“…Not like I have a choice.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Rhys focused on keeping his breathing slow and even while Jack took his pleasurable friction between his thighs. He attempted to zone out and not think about how well he knew this man’s body now—how Jack’s muscles tensed rhythmically and face contorted in near-pain as he neared orgasm. As much as he tried, every little hitch in the older man’s breathing and the murmured profanity brought him rudely back.

“If I didn’t know any better… I’d say you’re enjoyin’ this,” Jack mused huskily in the long stretch of silence between them, panting softly in his ear in his exertion. “Definitely an improvement over you fightin’ me all the time—but I gotta admit… you’re fuckin’ _hot_ when you’re angry with me. Have half a mind to piss ya off right now and feel ya squirm.”

“Just sick of it,” Rhys muttered. “Don’t wanna get strangled… Just wanna finish my shower.”

“Aw, _shit_ ,” he laughed breathily, “and that was one of my kinks, too. Guess we’ll have to find somethin’ else. What’re you into? I’m a flexible guy.”

“I dunno—free will?”

“That’s a good one. But, ah… god _damn_ it.” Jack suddenly huffed, his head falling forward onto Rhys’s shoulder. He let out a tortured-sounding groan. “I can’t **come**. I swear to fuck there’s, like, a block. Still thinkin’ ‘bout some e-mails I got today from your favorite R &D drone.”

Rhys already knew exactly who Jack was talking about without having to confirm it. With a man’s fully erect dick nestled between his legs, he stressed over why it was being brought up now, of all times, and what it could mean for him. Why would Nakayama contact Jack? Had he decided it wasn’t worth keeping the secret from him and told him anything incriminating? “My favorite—what, _Nakayama?_ ”

“Somethin’ like that,” he mumbled distastefully. “The PA knew to delete ‘em immediately, but she sent ‘em to me today for _some_ friggin’ reason. Some things ya just can’t unsee, ya know? A video of Nakayama reciting weird poetry is one of ‘em— _see?_ It’s already makin’ me soft. I airlocked her ass for sendin’ me that, so now I gotta find a new PA. Just what I need, huh?”

“R-really?” Rhys stammered slightly, his fingers flexing against the shower tile. Recalling what Angel had said about finding Jack a new secretary, he grew sick at the implication that whoever it was had died during her first day. He struggled to remain nonchalant. “That… that sucks.”

“Yup. Guess I’ll paint your thighs with my cum another time,” he promised lowly, “preferably with some lube instead of water. And— _ehh_ , it was kinda chafin’ anyway.”

“Lucky me…”

“Finish up, and I’ll see ya down in the firing range in ten minutes. Got it?” With that, Jack slapped his body double’s ass and stepped out of the shower.

A wave of cold air hit Rhys’s back in his absence, wrenching a shiver from him. With the horrible memories of the last few times he spent time with Jack fresh in mind, he closed his eyes in dread, wondering what the Hyperion CEO had planned for him.

However, despite his reservations, as the morning turned into afternoon, all was relatively tame—a startling contrast to the last time he had been subjected to Jack’s overbearing expectations on the firing range—and he found himself relaxing in his cruel boss’s presence for the first time that he could remember.

“Hey, not bad!” Jack called out to him.

Rhys lowered his pistol, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. It had been a good shot, just a few inches shy of the center of the head of his target, and he was proud of it. It lightened him further when Jack also appreciated it.

Encouraged by the nonstop compliments and rare approachable attitude the other man was exhibiting, Rhys inquired, “So, uh… how’s your nose?” Taking a moment to shoot another round from his pistol, he was extremely pleased by its accuracy and preened the slightest bit when Jack whistled appreciatively behind him. It truly felt good to be praised after so much abuse.

“Peachy; beautiful as ever, no thanks to you. Oh—that reminds me. Got a new mask, pumpkin. And this one’s got a reinforced nose so ya can’t break it again when you get pissed off.” When his companion glanced over his shoulder, Jack tapped the aforementioned part of the mask and smirked. “Yours is the same ol’ one. Keep that in mind.”

Unable to produce a suitable response to that, Rhys simply busied himself with firing a few more shots into his target, which was littered with bullet holes and had to be replaced with a fresh sheet. He was growing accustomed to the feel of the sleek weapon cupped in his hands, aiming down the sights, and knowing how to orient his body in preparation for the very slight recoil. Hyperion was indeed renowned for its superiority in accuracy; Rhys felt as if he could hit anything with enough practice. The feeling of power such a thought brought was addicting, and he drank it in, allowing it to elevate his downtrodden self-esteem.

He wasn’t sure how long they spent in that room together because the magazines continued digi-structing endlessly for his use, and the Hyperion CEO made no move to stop him. Eventually, Jack had no more comments to offer and simply watched with a gleam of approval in his eyes that made him feel really, _really_ good. As focused as he was on his shooting, when his boss finally did have something to say, Rhys blinked and realized that the words that Jack had just spoken to him didn’t register. There was no way he heard that correctly, but he had to be certain. Lowering his pistol, he turned his head to gauge the older man’s expression. “What… what did you say?”

“I said, ‘You can go fuck around out in Helios today if ya want,’” Jack enunciated slowly, drawing out the syllables as he tended to do when he had to repeat himself. “Have fun. Do anything ya want.”

Rhys stared at him incredulously. He debated having his ears checked by Medical later on because he was hearing unusual things today—perhaps from the sheer number of gunshots? Deciding to test his luck, he broached cautiously, “‘Anything’? So lemme get this straight, Jack. You’re giving _me_ permission… to do whatever I want… in _your_ body?”

“Well, ya know, the usual rules still apply.” Jack, eyes half-lidded, flashed him a toothy smile, unfazed by his incredulity. “But, uh, yeah. Hey, go see a movie, have a few drinks, play a few arcade games. Enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it with those shots, kiddo.”

Suspicious, he absorbed the numerous implications such freedom presented to him. “I thought you hated me. Why—”

“—I don’t hate’cha.” Jack rolled his eyes. With a huff, he amended, “Yeah, ya piss me off. You’re disobedient as hell and a little slow sometimes, but…”

Fighting the urge to scowl, Rhys waited impatiently for him to finish his thought.

But Jack refused to continue on his tangent, wherever it had been headed. He shook his head, and his lips twitched into a frown. “So—about Angel.”

The body double immediately tensed. This was not territory he wanted to venture into with Jack, whom Angel had once warned would react very violently to her name ever being mentioned. There was something going on between the two of them, and he hadn’t a clue what it might be. But it wasn’t his business, and Angel didn’t seem eager to explain it. He was wary when he responded slowly, “…What about her?”

“Whatever she said to you, she’s just usin’ you,” Jack told him, a seriousness overtaking his features and dissipating any of his former easygoing mood, “so I’d think _long_ and _hard_ about my next few moves if I were you. All right? Ciao, kitten.”

With those final ominous words, Jack turned on his heel and left him alone to put away his pistol and decide what he should do for the day. Before he could contemplate whether he was in the mood for a movie or some window-shopping, his ECHO-comm suddenly made the decision for him, heralded by the usual faint jingle.

 _“You were right to be suspicious,”_ Angel told him. _“Jack intends to closely monitor your actions once you leave here. It’s probably a test.”_

It stung a little bit, but he couldn’t blame the older man for not trusting him. After all, he was still plotting with Angel behind his back. But after all the praise he received, he had dared to think things would change between the two of them and progress slightly in the direction of what Jack and Timothy shared. Clearly, he was mistaken.

 _“That’s why a powerful EMP wave originating from Pandora will take out Helios communications long enough to allow you to speak to the department heads unobserved,”_ she explained. _“While Jack and his security teams are distracted with dealing with that, quickly make your way around Helios and end on R &D so you can check on Nakayama’s progress.”_

“An EMP wave? From where on Pandora?”

 _“I have connections here,”_ she assured him. _“Trust me. Not all bandits are mindless cannibals.”_

“I trust you. So… I take it that you’ve forgiven me?” He chewed on his bottom lip. “Did you give what I said some thought?”

 _“Yes, I did.”_ She paused for a long moment to gather her thoughts. _“I can’t understand withdrawal, Rhys, having never gone through it, myself. Whether your actions were influenced or not by your need for dopamine, I’ve decided to give you another chance. I know you didn’t really mean to compromise our plans.”_

The body double let out a breath of relief. “Thanks, Angel.”

_“You’re welcome. Give me a few minutes. You won’t even notice the EMP’s effects with Helios’s backup power supply, but there will be a noticeable flicker in the lights for a few seconds. That’ll be your cue. Good luck.”_

True to her word, only minutes after she disconnected from his ECHO-comm, there was a flicker in the lights, and he took that as the signal she had referred to. With his mission in mind, his first stop, of course, was his own department, which he scrutinized with far more interest than Handsome Jack would have a reason to show. Not much seemed to have changed, though there were a fair few new faces here and there—common in a cutthroat company such as Hyperion. He caught a few pieces of conversation here and there about the power flicker, but nobody seemed too terribly concerned about what it meant.

Since he was on a tight schedule, he told himself not to glance at his old cubicle on his way through, but he had the misfortune of finding someone in his plushy chair, enjoying a sip of coffee from the mug he hadn’t been able to retrieve before his abrupt lifestyle change. There was a small twinge in his heart when he realized all of his possessions were most likely lost. Most assuredly, his apartment had already been rented out to someone else, and all of his belongings had been subjected to the new owner’s mercy.

It was a horrible thought—if he were to ever find a way to go back to how things used to be, what would be waiting for him? His possessions, his place in the company… even his friends; all of it could be gone, especially if he managed to live for the thirty or so years his contract lasted.

Faced with his old boss, Saul Henderson, he barely listened to the man gushing pathetically about what an honor it was to be visited by Handsome Jack. Vaguely, he was sure he had interrupted at some point to mention the budget allotment, which the older man responded to rather amicably outwardly. If he disagreed at all, it wouldn’t be brought up with the Hyperion CEO. Complaining about the change in policy to coworkers in the break room was harmless; it wouldn’t reach Jack’s ears, and that was all that mattered.

Angel had told him to hurry, so he left things at that and consulted his mental map for his next destination. But it seemed the other man had other plans for him.

“So how’d that thing with Rhys go?” Henderson inquired quickly before Rhys could turn away. His hand was outstretched slightly as if he planned to grab his boss’s arm—before he quickly thought better of it and stopped himself just in time, though unbeknownst to him, Rhys wouldn’t have even reacted to it.

The body double blinked in pleasant surprise. “Uh, well… are ya askin’ if he’s all right?”

“What?” The man’s face screwed up with genuine puzzlement, as if he didn’t understand the purpose of the question. “No, I don’t care about that, sir. I’m just wondering if he was a good fit for whatever you needed him for. I would hate to send you someone that just ended up being more trouble than he’s worth.”

Rhys’s spirits, which had been lifted in light of his former boss’s apparent concern for his well-being, were immediately quashed by that. It shouldn’t have been such a shock, but it was—Henderson was just fishing for praise from the Hyperion CEO and couldn’t care less about his former subordinate, whom he had thrown away like a pawn on a chessboard.

If there was one comforting thing about Jack, it was that he didn’t need to act as two-faced as everyone else in the Hyperion ranks, Rhys himself included in that. While one had to be wary about what a coworker’s intentions may be in the long run when generously offering to cover a shift or retrieve a cup of coffee, Handsome Jack was crystal clear about his intentions. He would poison the coffee in perfect view of the person he was giving it to, and he would do it with an ear-to-ear smile on his face.

Henderson—he had been a source of motivation in Rhys’s professional life, often encouraging him to put more effort into his job and hinting toward a possible promotion in his immediate future to give him something to strive for during those long evenings of overtime in the office. But apparently the promotion had been a cover for a demotion to Handsome Jack’s bitch and nothing more than a way to boost his own standing in the company, and the realization was a bitter thing to swallow.

“So did I choose well?” he prompted when Rhys offered nothing in response. “If I didn’t, I can keep my eye open for a better candidate, and I apologize sincerely in advance for any inconvenience it caused you.”

 _Inconvenience._ Conspiring to completely ruin his life amounted to a mere inconvenience in this man’s eyes. The younger man had to firmly remind himself that he was Handsome Jack—not Rhys—but his smile was terrifyingly cold and plastic. “Nah, he was perfect. Couldn’t have chosen a better guy myself. No need to keep lookin’.”

Henderson seemed to sense there was something amiss with his known-psychotic boss and took a step back, chuckling uncomfortably and tugging at his collar as if Death himself were breathing down his neck. “Well… that’s great news. Please don’t let me take any more of your time, sir. You must be very busy. And, uh, thanks again for telling me about the budget, but an e-mail will do just fine next time.”

Rhys hadn’t blamed Henderson when he spoke to Jack about how he had become a body double, but he couldn’t deny that, for a short instant, he doubted himself slightly. How could someone be so flippant, so callous, about another person’s life as if it were a mere business transaction? It was sickening. Was this really the company he had devoted himself wholly to? Perhaps he had been drugged with his naivety his entire life, and only now was he realizing that the fictional monsters from his childhood really did exist.

They just cleverly wore human faces.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the departments—Medical, Maintenance, Accounting, Requisitions, among many others—flew by without incident, though he had glanced at Vaughn and Yvette on his way through their respective departments and resisted the strong urge to smile and wave at them while so many awed eyes were on him. By the time he was readying himself to head toward his final destination of Research and Development, he was effectively exhausted with human interaction.

It was tiring putting on an act, but there was the comfort that Jack would have no reason to be informed of the impromptu budget arrangement. The fund was successfully being compiled as he wandered all throughout Helios, and as he stepped into the blue-tinted maze of labs, Angel was quick to inform him that it was complete. With the details for the account stored in his ECHO-comm, he stepped into the downgraded Lab 19.

Nakayama glanced up in surprise at his entrance, a fork poised between his fingers. He had been completely immersed in his computer screen and hadn’t heard the doors slide open. He swallowed his mouthful of food and stared at Rhys reverently. “Oh! Good afternoon, _Handsome Jack_ , sir.”

Why did he always have to lace the Hyperion CEO's name with hidden meanings? Nonetheless, Rhys appreciated the fact that the scientist was taking care to keep his knowledge of him a secret in case the original himself came by, as miniscule a chance as that was. He crossed his arms and quietly uttered, “’Afternoon, Naka _yama_ ,” like it was a password. ‘ _I’m a body double, so drop the act,’_ was subtle but very much understood, and he expected Nakayama to take his eyes off him and continue eating his lunch once he knew that Rhys wasn’t actually Jack.

In actuality, Nakayama’s demeanor didn’t shift even the slightest bit, and his eyes remained firmly rooted on the body double as if there were nothing else worth devoting his attention to.

“Got a few things to discuss,” Rhys began, all business. Once he moved away from the threshold of the doors, they slid shut behind him, granting them privacy. Stopping in front of the older man’s desk, he placed his palms on its surface and leaned forward. “First of all, why are you sending e-mails to Jack?”

Nakayama’s cheeks pinked. “Oh, uh… jeez. Heh. You saw that?”

“Jack might’ve mentioned it to me this morning,” he responded, biting down on his inner cheek lightly. _While he was attempting to fuck my thighs_ , he added silently.

“Well, I send him something every day.” The scientist toyed with his fork bashfully. “In case he, you know, opens ‘em. S-so he does? He reads my e-mails?”

“I dunno.” Rhys slid his hands into his pockets and straightened back up as Nakayama buried himself back into his food. “So, uh, anyway, next thing I wanted to talk to you about: How’s the conversion machine and shield coming along?”

At the abrupt change in subject, Nakayama took the opportunity to quickly swallow another mouthful of his noodles and tapped the eating utensil against his chin thoughtfully. “They’re coming along quite smoothly, actually. I only need about four more days to finish up.”

Rhys opened his mouth to respond, but a single, sharp beep interrupted him before he could voice anything. He brought out his ECHO-comm and glanced down at the screen, noticing he had received a text message from Angel.

 _‘Four days is no good. Tell him it has to be completed in no more than two,’_ the message ordered primly.

Rhys frowned at it, re-reading it a second time to confirm he had read it correctly. It was oddly specific, but he wasn’t sure what the urgency was. Obviously Angel knew something he didn’t, but it was her invention. He was just the messenger. Shoving the device back into his pocket, he returned his attention to Nakayama, who was running a finger over his lower lip and flicking his gaze from Rhys’s pocket back up to his face with silent questioning. “Sorry, four days won’t work for me. It’s gotta be done in two or less.”

“Two?” Nakayama’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead in disbelief. “Well… I suppose I could do it. You know, with the, uh, right motivation, you understand. I’ve got some long nights ahead of me.”

“You want me to kiss you again,” the body double accused sourly.

“I wouldn’t object…” he trailed off. “But a kiss, while incredible in the moment, is so… fleeting. I was thinking something with more—hmm— _lasting impact_. You know?”

“No, I don’t know. What do you mean by that?” Rhys inquired warily. He dreaded the answer because he knew he’d have to come up with a compromise to satisfy the scientist’s desires and encourage him to finish the project early. What that compromise was going to be would undoubtedly be unpleasant in some way for him, but the intensity of it was yet to be determined. He could already hear Angel like a voice in his head, hovering over his shoulder, urging him to indulge the older man, no matter the cost, because he was her last hope. _For what_ —he had no clue, but he was just going with the flow at this point. He owed her.

Needless to say, he was surprised when Nakayama—instead of approaching him with a coy little smile and hooded eyes—merely rifled through his desk noisily and pulled out an ECHO-recorder, placing it on the surface innocently. Rhys stared at it questioningly.

“I want you to speak into this for me. Just say what I tell you to say, and I’ll record it,” Nakayama elaborated. “I hear Jack’s beautiful voice a lot through pre-recorded messages… but I want something personalized for me. It would cheer me up on those… _trying_ days.”

It sounded harmless enough, but it wasn’t enough for him to drop his guard just yet. He stepped closer to the desk and settled into the chair in front of it, and the recorder was pushed more insistently in his direction until he picked it up, turning it over in his hands.

“Press the top red button when you’re ready and say… hmm… ‘Oh, Nakayama, you’re so great and wonderful, and I can’t get enough of you!’ Just like that!”

“Oh. Uh, Nakayama… You’re so great and—yeah—wonderful and stuff. Can’t get enough of, um, you,” Rhys parroted haltingly into the ECHO-recorder, feeling awkward as he did. Speaking the words while the person was sitting directly in front of him, even though he hadn’t fabricated or meant them, was rather embarrassing, and it was difficult for him to sound earnest. He winced once he finished, knowing it wasn’t something to be proud of.

Despite Rhys’s obvious lack of conviction, Nakayama bobbed his head in approval and, once the device was passed back to him, replayed the audio, which frankly sounded as half-assed as it was. Then he frowned delicately and stroked his beard. “It sounds like Jack… but it doesn’t _sound_ like him. Hmm. You know what? Let’s try again. Say something motivational for me in your best ‘Jack’ voice.”

“Uh, what should I say?”

“Anything. Please, just try.” The scientist gave him a pitiful, pleading look. “If you can’t think of anything, I _guess_ we’ll just have to go back to kissing…”

Rhys immediately snatched the recorder back from him. After a few seconds of thought, he pressed the button to begin the recording, and he deadpanned jokingly in his acquired drawl, “Nakatisha, you’re mediocre and expendable, but your presence doesn’t completely make me wanna airlock ya in the general direction of Pandora.”

Despite the rather dubiously motivational words, Nakayama clapped his hands together excitedly and accepted the ECHO-recorder that was passed back to him for the final time. He replayed the audio with barely contained glee. “Oh… it’s _perfect_.”

“Have you…” he started tentatively, “…ever considered…”

“Hm?”

Rhys eyed the other man with heavy disbelief, wondering if he truly enjoyed the abusive ‘relationship’ he had with Handsome Jack. What he just witnessed suggested so, but he quickly decided it was none of his business. The last thing he wanted to do was offend Nakayama when he was still depending on him for Angel’s inventions. He shook his head and muttered, “Never mind.”

The arrival of another text message on Rhys’s ECHO-comm filled the lull between them. _‘The fund, Rhys,’_ it pointedly reminded him.

“Oh, yeah, got the fund ready for you,” he spoke up. “I’ve got the account details here. Like I said before, there should be more than enough for you to pay for the parts and have enough for your other project.”

“Excellent!” he chirped, clasping his hands together in front of his chest.

While Rhys gave the information to Nakayama and narrowly dodged an invitation to stay to view some more of his projects—“Look, I’m not _Jack_ , Nakayama. Why don’t you ask him?”—he couldn’t help but to puzzle over the specific two-day limitation Angel had strictly imposed. Was she simply impatient… or was there something urgent about it? He wished she would explain it to him, but he knew it wasn’t his place to question her methods. Things were tentative between the two of them as it was.

But why did he feel like things were going to take a drastic turn very soon?

The fleeting feeling was only amplified later, while drowning in mind-numbing dopamine—giving not a single care for his morals and preferences and only concerned with the next orgasm—and perched atop Jack’s lap, when the older man was all but devouring his lips while roughly grinding their clothed erections together with each jut of his hips. His hands were sliding up Rhys’s outer thighs and kneading his backside, memorizing every detail, and his kisses were frenzied and hungry, as if he’d never taste him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Update (March 14, 2017):** I have not forgotten about this story. Unfortunately, I lost a lot of interest in the fandom and moved on to _Elder Scrolls Online_. I know where this story will go, and I have the next few chapters already extensively planned. It's just a matter of finding time and motivation to sit down and flesh it all out. Behind my most recent story, this one is my highest priority, and I really want to finish it. Thanks to everyone who has left me feedback in the form of kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, and comments! It means a lot.


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